Stark Raving Mad
by Ellen Fitzwilliam Brandybuck
Summary: To ensure a victory, Robb must honor a marriage alliance and take the undesired Sascha Frey as his wife. However, he soon learns he married much more than he bargained for in the female inventor/engineer; before he can ponder a possible domestic future of peace, dark forces cause them to question duty, honor, and what it means to love. Rob/OC Jam/Bri Ary/Gen Try/San
1. How They Met

_I don't own the GoT characters, only my OC's. This story will be in the style of a film called "Flipped." The movie featured the same event but was told from the boy's perspective and then from the girl's perspective; in a similar fashion, this story will feature the same/similar event but from different perspectives, Robb's and the OC's. It will not be a day-by-day retelling of things but mere instances in what leads them to marriage and thereafter. If you have a particular instance you'd like to see both perspectives of then please feel free to tell me and I'd be happy to write it. Cheers! Oh, I will also be taking some liberties with the GoT timeline, especially since *GASP* I'm not going to kill off Robb._

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How They Met: Robb

"Riders your majesty, at least a dozen." At the sound of Greatjon's voice, Robb looked up from the map of the Riverlands he'd been studying. "From the banners it looks to be the Frey's."

Robb spared a glance towards his mother before he straightened to his full height and joined Greatjon by the open tent flap. He blinked against the noontime sun and shaded his eyes in a similar fashion to Greatjon before he could see the riders the man spoke of. He didn't have to see her to know that the knuckles on his mother's hands had whitened at Greatjon's announcement. She knew as well as he that this could bode well for them, or quickly turn ill. Their recent victories against the Lannisters had allowed them the time and relative peace to focus on the arrangement between himself and Walder Frey. However, he'd only just informed his mother two days before of his intention to marry Talisa and break with Frey. He was still reaping the silent treatment from her as a result of that—it seemed that being king didn't stop his mother from treating him like a child from time to time, or from acting like one herself. No others, aside from himself, Talisa, and his mother knew of his intentions, though according to his mother it was quite obvious to his bannermen that something had changed about his intentions towards the Frey's.

Surprisingly, Talisa had been the one to question him first. While she made it clear that she was not averse to the idea of marrying him, she'd warned him of the impulsiveness of this decision, of the consequences that could reach far beyond just themselves. His mother had taken a more direct approach and had asked if he really wanted to throw it all away for the warmth and comfort of a woman. In hindsight, he'd perhaps overstepped his bounds as her son when he'd told her that she'd not understand his situation, since the love she'd had for his father had developed over time. He remembered the hardened, near pained, look on her face as a result of that comment and had for a moment regretted saying it; but then again she'd more than once overstepped her bounds as his subject and abused her position as his mother. That would have to change if he was to command the respect of all the houses of the north as their true king once this war was over.

"I've a bad feeling about this." Greatjon murmured by his side. "I've never known the Frey's to come out to greet guests before."

Robb dropped his hand from shading his eyes and nodded his agreement. To have representatives of the Frey's arrive now, so soon after his private announcement to his mother of his agreement with Talisa, seemed less than fortuitous. They were still a few days ride away from the Twins and he'd had every intention of bringing his Uncle Tully with him to renegotiate with Walder Frey. There were ways, he'd argued with his mother, to still have the alliance and meet the terms set by Frey, if not by his marriage then by one from his household. She hadn't seemed convinced but it seemed that he would not have the opportunity to have that particular discussion now.

He watched in silence as the riders slowed their pace at the edge of camp. They dismounted and, after inspection and introductions, were led towards his tent. Talisa was busy tending the wounded on the opposite side of camp, so he didn't worry about an untimely arrival on her part. After that night together, the point of no return in many cases, it had been difficult to keep his hands and mind off her. Hence the reason for her absence now; he intended to follow the old ways and maintain abstinence from her for at least two days before their union. She deserved no less than that. Thus, because of that, he'd not spoken to her nor seen her, and he desperately missed her. Perhaps that was why he felt more anxious than usual now.

Greatjon crossed his arms over his chest as the Frey's drew closer and Robb mimicked his stance when he noticed that the Frey's were clad in battle gear. They had stated earlier that they would await the union between himself and one of Walder's daughters before they announced their loyalty to one side or the other in this war. To see this group approach him now, in such a fashion, had him looking over his shoulder to his mother. He shook his head in warning. She immediately stood and moved to the other side of the tent, her body tense and at the ready. Her swornsword, Lady Brienne, had approached the tent at the same pace as the newcomers and as Robb widened his stance to face the newcomers head-on, Lady Brienne came to a stop just to the side of Lord Umber.

Once they were within speaking distance, Robb's men had them stop and he watched with some curiosity as the majority of the newcomers voluntarily removed their helmets and stiffly bowed their heads in respect. It seemed that the leader of the group was less inclined to do so and instead stood with a hand on the hilt of his sword and the other hand hovering over the sheath of his dagger.

"You face the King of the North, Frey-man," Greatjon growled at the leader of the group, "you'd best show some respect." The large bannerman shifted his weight as if he was about to move forward but Robb raised his own hand to stay him. He was curious as to why this man before him would be so bold.

"The King of the North faces a member of his future family." The voice they heard from inside the helmet was undoubtedly female and they all paused with equal confusion as the woman's hands moved from sword hilt and side towards helmet; then, with swift movements, the helmet was removed. The woman shook her head of shoulder length brown hair before flicking her head to the side to get it out of her face, revealing decidedly feminine features, not altogether unpleasant to look at but far from great beauty. If she was indeed a member of the Frey family it was to her credit that she took after the non-Frey side in looks. He watched as she placed the helmet under her arm, much in the same fashion as a soldier would do, and bowed her head ever so slightly in his direction. "My lord King Robb please allow me to introduce myself. I am Lady Sascha Royce, eldest daughter to Lord Walder Frey. I am here to accompany you to my father at the Twins."

He had no way of knowing just how many daughters Walder Frey had and he was not so updated on the political marriage alliances as his mother, therefore he hadn't expected to be met with someone connected to the Royce family. He didn't know overly much about them, aside from their creed and banners; Robb found it strange, then, to realize that this woman and her men had ridden in under the Frey banners and not Royce. He was struck dumb just long enough for the woman to raise an eyebrow at him in an expression not unlike amusement. At this, Robb shook himself into action; he bowed his head in return and gestured for the Lady to enter his tent. They had much to discuss before they were to go anywhere and the discussion would be best done within the tent, away from prying eyes and spying ears.

The lady signaled her men to stay where they were before she preceded him inside. He in turn gave Greatjon a look and without having to say anything the man cleared out and took the rest of Robb's counsel with him. When Robb turned to move back inside the tent he nearly walked into Lady Royce's back. She was as tall as he and without her armor he wagered that she'd have a similar build to his own. With the armor he couldn't tell if she'd have any semblance of femininity to her body or not but he didn't bother with wondering. Glancing over her shoulder towards him, she noticed his sudden proximity and immediately stepped to the side so he could come in further, the tent flap falling closed behind him. He looked over to see his mother moving forward.

"Lady Royce, my mother Lady Catelyn Stark." Lady Royce again bowed her head in an almost masculine way while his mother shifted her weight in a polite curtsy. "Please, have a seat Lady Royce. You must be tired after your ride." Her movements were stiff but eventually Lady Royce sat on the edge of the chair he indicated while his mother readied three glasses of water for them. "Your father need not have sent you to escort us, we are but a few days' journey from the Twins."

Lady Royce waited until after his mother gave her the cup of water before she spoke. "Oh, but he most certainly would have felt the need to do so, after he heard the troubling reports sent his way." Robb saw, out of the corner of his eye, his mother's knuckles going white again as she gripped her glass harder. Lady Royce, however, kept her voice calm and even, and her eyes remained on the contents of her cup as she continued. "Reports of a possible threat to the marital alliance between our houses." Her eyes slowly traveled up from her cup to meet his own and he noticed for the first time that they were the color of dying embers. Instead of the warmth of an ember, however, he perceived calculated coldness, a deep discerning capacity he'd not often seen within the female sex. "You see my father is not a very trusting man, often given to fits of paranoia, and he always acts with extreme caution. I am being forthright with you, lord king, with the hope that you may repay my honesty with some of your own."

She'd tipped her head down slightly, her eyes narrowing in on his soul it felt, by the time she finished. "I do not know of what you speak." Robb turned his back on her and moved to the far end of the table before he took his own seat, setting his glass on the table. He felt that as much space between them as possible would aid him against her otherworldly eyes. His mother also sat, though on a chair at the edge of the tent, almost in the shadows. "What was in these reports that were so troubling, and that lay such accusations upon me? I would know of their origin."

Lady Royce eyed him for a moment, her eyes flicking around as they studied his face, before she took a sip of water and placed her own cup on the table as well. "You must know that you are on Frey lands and that the people you pass, the people who have extended their hospitality to your men and yourself, have been Frey as well. Anything and everything that they have seen has been reported back to my father ever since you first laid foot in this area." When Robb frowned and opened his mouth to speak Lady Royce continued, "I mentioned before that my father is overly cautious, far from trusting, and often paranoid. He has these reports from all who pass through his lands; you have merely curtailed further attention from my father given your present quest."

Robb held himself back from throwing a few choice words between them, all aimed at her father, and instead asked, "Well, I ask again, what was in these reports that would be so troubling that the Lord Frey would see fit to send his daughter, clad in battle armor, to meet his ally beyond the walls of his keep?"

"He did not send me, lord king, I came on my own." Robb exchanged a look with his mother before he returned his attention to the strange woman before him. "Those men are not my father's, they are my own, left to me from my late husband, Ser Robar Royce. We rode under the Frey banners with the understanding that you would welcome us as allies."

Robb laid a hand on the hilt of his sword as he narrowed his gaze on her, "What are your intentions then, milady, if you have not been sent by your father?"

"My intentions, majesty, are the same as I stated before your tent, to escort you to my father. Nothing more and nothing less. I, unlike some I have become acquainted with, do not make false statements or mislead with my intentions." The intended barb struck but he was unable to gage the intensity of it as Lady Royce looked over to his mother to break the moment and then back to him; when she did not seem to see what it was she was looking for in their faces she sighed and leaned forward, resting her weight on her elbows perched on the table. "My father did not receive the reports I spoke of, I did. I have recently returned to my father's household, after mourning my husband's passing, and I intercepted the reports before they could be relayed to him. After reading these reports I saw wisdom in riding out to meet you before my father could see them himself. I was only able to delay them until my successful return."

There was a tense silence during which they could all hear the noises of the camp outside: horses, men, cattle, all moving about unaware of the conversation occurring now. Robb was suddenly thankful that he had not seen Talisa; it was making this conversation easier in a sense. His head was clear of the intense desire he often felt for her, and he needed clarity in this moment, with this woman. She spoke with more confidence and acuity than what he was used to finding within a woman. Even his mother, as wise as she was, rarely carried herself the way this Lady Royce did. Perhaps it was the combination of her strange behavior coupled with her strange appearance that had Robb's mind floundering for quick replies.

"Successful." He repeated the word to her and noticed how the corner of her mouth twitched in an almost frown. Robb rested both his hands on the table and laced his fingers together as he too leaned forward, "What would make your return successful?"

Lady Royce mimicked his movements and also laced her fingers together, her gaze never wavering, "You and your forces returning with me. Unless this happens, in two days' time, I cannot stop the contents of the reports from reaching my father's ears."

"I ask again, milady, what was in these reports?" He would not confirm or deny the accusation that there was a threat to the alliance, though both he and his mother knew this to be true. He was most curious as to what it was she'd heard that would prompt her to rush to his camp, with the intention of near dragging him back to meet her father like an unruly subject.

Lady Royce again looked at his mother first before she leveled his gaze back upon him, "Let us speak plainly."

"I thought we had been." He interjected.

She frowned, though he thought he saw a tugging at her lips as if she fought a smile. "Well then I'll hedge no longer. Have you or have you not taken Talisa Maegyr into your tent?"

Robb surged to his feet just as he heard his mother gasp, "How dare you ask such questions. You have no right-"

"I have every right." Lady Royce also stood and faced down his ire with a hint of her own. "You swore an oath to my father to forge a marital alliance between your house and his. You then used Frey bridges and Frey provisions to aid you in your war against the Lannister's. If the reports are true, now that victory appears to be yours for the taking, you have negated on your oath and seek to renegotiate in order to free yourself to wed another." Robb felt as if his legs had been kicked out from beneath him. How was it that this woman knew so much of what had occurred, and so recently too? Had he truly been so obvious with his intentions, as his mother had warned he had? "Can you deny these things, lord king?"

"What you have accused King Robb of just now, these things were what were in the reports?" His mother asked when he did not immediately answer and he watched Lady Royce nod her head in confirmation. "And you said your father has not seen them yet?"

"No, Lady Stark, he has not. However, they will be conveyed to him should I not return with King Robb himself by my side, the alliance still standing between the Starks and Freys." She turned her gaze away from Robb and instead focused on his mother. "I do not think I need to warn you that my father is not above repaying betrayal with betrayal. Anyone less than King Robb himself as a future son-in-law will be seen as a betrayal and my father will repay in kind."

"Are you threatening us?" Robb growled out his question, his hand again drifting to the hilt of his sword.

He saw Lady Royce also drop her hand to her sword-hilt and he suddenly wondered if she knew how to use it or if it were merely for decoration. "I am conveying facts, King Robb. I felt you should know these things before you made a decision you could not reverse."

"Why," his mother had stood and now stepped closer, her hands clasped tight in front of her body, "why are you telling us this?"

Lady Royce sighed and he saw a darkness he'd not perceived before creep into her eyes as she spoke again, "I know the nature of my father and I know the reputation of my family. I have not been away so long to have forgotten these things. I also know what my father is capable of if he feels himself betrayed." She moved her hand away from her sword and rubbed at her wrist before she looked up and gave him her full attention. "You have fought battles and won, and indeed the war could be over soon. So many have died already but thus far the killing has remained, for the most part, on the battlefield. Should you not follow through with your oath, I can guarantee you this: the killing will no longer be on the battlefields alone."

Robb stared at her a moment longer, looking for any signs of duplicity, but all he found was sincerity, an odd trait to be found in an offspring of Walder Frey. Perhaps her marriage into the Royce household had cured her of any conniving Frey tendencies. He knew Ser Robar Royce, bannerman to the late Renly Baratheon, had been killed at the hands of Brienne of Tarth—which made him wonder what the woman had felt when she'd seen the Lady just outside his tent. The Royce family was known to be honorable and trustworthy and perhaps it was because of her association with them, if even by marriage, that Robb found himself inclined to believe her story, despite his initial dislike of the woman herself.

"I would ask to speak to my mother alone now, Lady Royce. My men will see to it that you and yours are looked after until we can meet again."

She nodded and turned to leave. She paused at the entrance, however, and spoke over her shoulder, "If it is true, about the other woman, then know that Walder Frey cares not if his future son-in-law has mistresses a plenty. He merely wants a marriage alliance to secure his power and cares not for the vows of fidelity said between spouses." With that said she left Robb with his mother, and with their fears confirmed.

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How They Met: Sascha

It was difficult to pinpoint at what moment she'd thought this would be a good idea. It certainly hadn't been that morning, or the morning before that, or before that. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she realized she'd never thought this was a good idea. Just the right thing to do. In this world, if she'd learned anything from her husband, the right thing to do was rarely a good idea to follow through with, namely because few others did the right thing as well.

"You're certain we should follow through with this, milady?" Her captain, Wolfred, asked, his hands tightening on the reins of his horse to keep the excited creature from breaking into a trot.

Before answering, Sascha eyed the camp on the plains before her and her men. It was sprawling to be certain, a testament to the strength of Stark's forces, and also evidence to the loyalty his people lavished upon him. They were well over a week's ride away from their homes, and should things suddenly turn dark they would be cut off completely and left to die. This did not seem to deter their enthusiasm for victory though. The numbers they'd faced down so far had been stacked heavily against them, and the resources they had access to were significantly less than what the Lannister's had, and yet they'd persevered. They'd taken Jamie Lannister himself captive after the Battle of the Whispering Wood, and later continued their victories with the Battle of Oxcross and also the Battle of the Yellow Fork. Her father claimed it was a fool's war, but she disagreed. The Starks were winning because they had more to fight for than gold and glory like the Lannister's; they were fighting for justice after the brutal murder of Lord Eddard Stark and the hostage taking of his daughters. So while the war was not a good idea, it was the right thing to do.

Her father was too far removed from King's Landing to fully understand these things, at least not as she did. He persisted upon seeing the world as he wanted, with only the Frey's stability in mind. He cared not for justice for others, only the coffers of his own keep. She, however, had seen what a lack of justice could do to men, seen far too close to ever forget, and naïve though it may be to still believe in good triumphing over evil, she felt it in her bones that the Starks could, and should, win out in this war. There were few redeemable things involved with the Lannister's, in fact she could count two redeemable qualities within the Lannister's, and any war they fought in was a war that should be lost to them. If they did win, then let the White Walkers return and bring with them a brutal winter over the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros.

"Well, milady, do we proceed as you indicated or do we turn back?" Wolfred asked again, his horse stomping at the ground as the other horses had begun to do, all accurately perceiving the nervousness of their riders.

She nodded and reached to pull down the visor of her helmet, "We proceed as planned." She raised her arm and lowered it, nudging her horse into a canter with her men following suit.

She knew they'd be spotted within seconds of moving out from the wooded area they'd paused in and indeed, even from their distance, she saw the guards at the edge of the camping moving into closer quarters, in case this was an attack. Sascha had told her men to wear battle gear in case they met with any Lannister stragglers, and also she wanted the Starks to know that they were serious with what they were about to say—or at least she wanted them to take her seriously. As a woman, it was entirely possible, and probable, that they would toss aside her petition/demand as fanciful and go on with their assumed decision, at least as the reports stated—as disastrous as it'd be. She was accustomed to not being taken seriously. Even when she'd proven herself talented and capable as a child, her father had downplayed her abilities and passed off her accomplishments as flukes or praised someone else. It had only after she'd married Robar that she'd learned that it was possible for a man to respect a woman. She was now drawing upon those lessons she'd learned from her late husband to spurn her forward.

As they rode closer, Sascha reflected back on what had been inside the reports and began to prepare her line of argument. She'd never met Robb Stark personally, and had only barely glimpsed Lord Stark whilst he'd been alive at King's Landing, but the Starks were renowned for their stubbornness and argumentative natures—a trait of most northerners. If there was no clear-cut evidence, then the notions put to them were typically set aside, or at least that is what her husband had told her of the Starks after it'd been announced that Eddard Stark would be the hand of the king. He'd predicted, and rightly so, that a wolf and a lion could never live peaceably together; they both were too territorial and naturally dominate to be able to coexist. Lord Stark's beheading and the Lannister's grab for further power were proof of this.

Remembering Robar's words, Sascha mentally sighed. Sascha did not mourn her husband as woman in love might have. It was true, that a friendship, a kinship, had built between Robar and herself over time. Though he'd been loyal to his father and had married her as he'd been instructed to, just as she'd married him as she'd been ordered, she bore no ill will towards the man for his lack of initial interest in her—it was equally true that she'd jumped at the chance for freedom from her father. The first few months of marriage had been hell and only after a time had they been able to heal from those first months. It had not been his fault that he was unable to perform a husband's duties, the results of a tourney injury but known only to herself and her husband. It had also not been his fault that he lacked his own convictions and instead held those of his father, or Renly Baratheon's, or any man's who deemed himself stronger than Robar himself. He'd had a kind heart towards her though and had treated her with respect; he'd encouraged her once secret education and had relished their lively debates over dinner.

The irony that he'd died at the hands of another woman was not lost to Sascha, who had been accused of sucking the life out of Robar with her sharp mind and lack of wifely piety. She did not blame Brienne of Tarth for killing him, it had been a fair fight and she had clearly been the better fighter. Robar would've preferred to have died that way in any case, spared a lifetime of questions after his virility and capabilities as a man. That Lord Royce had not clearly indicated her welcome or unwelcome at their castle after Robar's death had allowed her the choice of either remaining with him as a widow or returning to her father with the intention of remarrying. She had not relished the idea of wandering Royce's keep like a forgotten wraith any more than she'd liked the idea of living under the same oppressive roof as her father, but she had her sisters to think of and so had decided to return. It was good that she had or else this meeting, and possible avoidance of disaster, would never have happened.

They slowed their horses as they drew closer to the edge of the camp. Again she reviewed the facts as indicated in the reports: multiple sightings of close meetings between the king and another woman, understood to be a highborn woman of the name Talisa Maegyr, with some evidence that the king was shifting marital alliances from the Frey's to Talisa Maegyr; a purposeful delay in returning to the Twins and assumed contact between the king and his Tully kin, amongst whom was an unmarried uncle. This led Sascha to believe that the agreement between her father and King Robb was threatened and she feared what it might do to the king's cause, and his people, should this occur. She knew her father well enough to know that he was not above making an alliance with the Lannister's and arranging for some dastardly deed to be done in repayment for such a betrayal. As much as possible, Sascha hoped to avoid such a fate.

Wolfred made the introductions to the guards at the edge of camp, understanding that she would remain silent until they were before the King of the North. She led the way through the camp, however, all the while reflecting back on the many times she'd witnessed her father's brutal retaliation, to kin and enemy alike, whenever he'd been betrayed. She could not stand idly by and allow this to happen; if King Robb did betray her father then yes he did deserve to reap the consequences of his actions, but she knew her father would overstep what would be considered rightful repayment of such actions and an entire kingdom could suffer the consequences.

She looked up the slight incline they'd begun to climb up and saw the king's tent. Just outside it stood a giant of a man, powerful arms crossed over his chest. He was too old to be the king, and too large. She knew the king to be five years her junior and from the reports she'd had he should be of amber colored hair and of her stature. One of the guards blocking her view moved and indeed there the king stood, his arms also crossed over his chest, his legs slightly wider than his shoulders—as if to make himself look more formidable. Sascha almost tripped over her feet when she saw movement out of the corner of her eyes and realized that it was none other than Lady Brienne of Tarth. How had this woman gotten mixed up with the Stark campaign? After Robar's death, Lady Brienne had come to Sascha and had in her own masculine way attempted to compliment Robar's fighting skills—her way of apologizing for killing him, mayhaps. There were no hard feelings in Sascha's heart towards the Lady, but it was still jarring to see her now.

Their stopped a few paces away and her men immediately began to take off their helmets. Lady Brienne drew to a stop to the other side of the giant man. Sascha knew she should remove her helmet as well and yet, she wondered, if it would not be more in her favor to have the king or his men request or demand her to do so first. Let them think her an audacious man only to find out she was instead a tenacious woman. She had not the capacity for lying and cheating that many of her bastard brothers had but she had inherited a good nature for scheming and that was about as useful.

"You face the King of the North, Frey-man," The giant man growled at her, almost startling her with his aggressive tone, "you'd best show some respect." When she didn't immediately move in response he uncrossed his arms and shifted his weight as if he were going to forcibly remove her helmet for her but then the man beside him, the king himself, held up his hand to stop him.

She studied his features, unable to deny the handsomeness of his looks, before she steadied her mind and replied in a loud voice, "The King of the North faces a member of his future family."

Before she reached for her helmet she saw a look of shock cross the king's features and smiled to herself at the sight of it. So far things were in her favor. She reached up and unceremoniously removed her helmet, shaking her unruly hair out of her face. She'd followed House Royce traditions and had cut her hair as a sign of mourning after Robar's death and now it was at a most awkward length, always getting in her way and never cooperating. She tucked her helmet under her arm and gave the king as polite a nod as she knew, previously uncertain if she should bow or attempt a curtsy. Wearing armor solved her problem however, and rendered it near impossible to do either without looking like a fool.

"My lord King Robb," the king's face was still registered in a state of shock and so Sascha further took advantage of this to introduce herself, "please allow me to introduce myself. I am Lady Sascha Royce, eldest daughter to Lord Walder Frey." At her father's name she thought she detected a hint of surprise in the giant man's face out of the corner of her eye but she kept her eyes steadfast on the king's face. Lady Brienne's stance, aggressive previously, had relaxed; but she was the only one who had done so. All the other soldiers standing in front of her, including the king, remained tense. "I am here to accompany you to my father at the Twins."

The king remained still and unmoving, his face unchanged from when she'd first removed her helmet. Sascha found her shock tactic pleasantly reassuring and so allowed her slight amusement on the king's behalf to show on her face when she raised an eyebrow at his lack of response. This must've prompted a change as within seconds of her doing this he bowed his head and moved to the side, indicating that she should enter his tent.

Sascha turned and gave Wolfred a look, not having to say anything to have him understand that in no instance were he or the others to come into the tent unless she called for them. They'd discussed the plan at length prior to coming: she'd talk to the king, he'd most likely want some time to decide, then they'd either escort the king and his men back home or they'd…well they'd never come up with a second plan. Wolfred was in favor of kidnapping and/or killing the king as retribution but he'd always been a bit more bloodthirsty than Sascha.

With this understanding between them, Sascha turned back towards the king and moved past him to the tent. She stopped just outside the entrance and looked over to Lady Brienne. She nodded her head and was rewarded with a similar nod. She wanted the Lady to know that nothing untoward was about to occur. She then turned her attention towards the interior of the tent and allowed her eyes to adjust the sudden shadows. It was noontime outside and the sun was stronger than normal for this time of the year. The tent was well equipped for a king's war tent: table with map laid out on it, a bed in the far side, numerous chairs and benches. Near the bed on the far side of the tent Sascha saw a woman, undoubtedly his mother from the similarity in looks.

Before she could give a greeting she felt a presence come close behind her and realized, suddenly, that she'd yet to move from the entrance. She glanced over her should to see that it was the king, staring at her as if she'd taken leave of her senses. She fought a blush and ducked her head to hide it as she stepped to the side so he could come in further, the tent flap falling closed behind him. They were sealed in, then, and she would not leave until all had been said and a decision made. She swallowed the lump of anxiety that suddenly made its home in her throat. She had to press onward and upward; there was too much at stake.

"Lady Royce," he had a melodic voice, not too thick with the northern accent but thick enough to make it exotic to her ears, "my mother Lady Catelyn Stark." Sascha bowed her head to the woman while his mother shifted her weight in a polite curtsy in return. "Please, have a seat Lady Royce. You must be tired after your ride." She lacked usual female grace even out of armor but the added weight of the metal made her movements even more sluggish. Eventually she made it to the chair he'd indicated while his mother readied three glasses of water for them. "Your father need not have sent you to escort us, we are put a few days' journey from the Twins."

Sascha waited until after Lady Stark gave her the water before she replied. "Oh, but he most certainly would have felt the need to do so, after he heard the troubling reports sent his way." She did not give into the desire to study mother and son as she spoke and instead kept her voice calm and even, her eyes on the contents of her cup as she continued. "Reports of a possible threat to the marital alliance between our houses." As if to punctuate this statement she allowed her eyes to slowly move from the swirling contents of her cup to meet the king's and she was struck by the intensity of their color; steely blue, cold as the man himself appeared to be. "You see my father is not a very trusting man, often given to fits of paranoia, and he always acts with extreme caution." After glancing at Lady Stark and detecting a hint of apprehension she quickly added, "I am being forthright with you, lord king, with the hope that you may repay my honesty with some of your own."

His eyes had widened for a hair of a second when she'd first dropped a hint of accusation at his feet but once she'd finished his eyes and stance had returned to a dismissive nature. "I do not know of what you speak." This said he turned his back on her and moved to the far end of the table before he took his own seat, setting his glass on the table. It was as if he wanted to put as much distance between them as he could; perhaps out of guilt or perhaps because he found her presence so offensive. "What was in these reports that were so troubling, and that lay such accusations upon me? I would know of their origin."

She studied him for a moment, her eyes flicking around as they studied his face—he looked young and inexperienced but handsome nonetheless—before she took a sip of water and placed her own cup on the table as well. There was no use in hedging around the matter. She had to plunge into the icy waters now that she was here.

"You must know that you are on Frey lands and that the people you pass, the people who have extended their hospitality to your men and yourself, have been Frey as well. Anything and everything that they have seen has been reported back to my father ever since you first laid foot in this area." He opened his mouth as if to argue and so she hurried on before he could, "I mentioned before that my father is overly cautious, far from trusting, and often paranoid. He has these reports from all who pass through his lands; you have merely curtailed further attention from my father given your present quest."

His jaw tightened in response, as if he were holding in what he would rather say and instead replied with a curt, "Well, I ask again, what was in these reports that would be so troubling that the Lord Frey would see fit to send his daughter, clad in battle armor, to meet his ally beyond the walls of his keep?"

She detected hints of incredulity and perhaps mockery in his voice, as if he found her very presence to be a jest. When she looked at his mother, however, she saw no such notions in her eyes or gaze. The woman instead appeared to be on the edge of a precipice, holding her breath to see if she were about to fall or not. Sascha knew she would be the one to push the woman over the edge, or save her from it, depending upon how the king responded to her next words.

"He did not send me, lord king, I came on my own." She watched as he exchanged a look with Lady Stark before he returned his attention to her. "Those men are not my father's, they are my own, left to me from my late husband, Ser Robar Royce." This was all true. Lord Royce had given these men, Robar's closest soldiers, the option of remaining with him or remaining with her. A strange arrangement, as the rest of the household had whispered, but they'd chosen her and that had been the end of it. During her marriage with Robar, they'd all been privy to her talents and capabilities, thanks in part to Robar's encouragement and support. They believed she was a woman worth following. She now hoped she could continue to live up to their expectations. "We rode under the Frey banners with the understanding that you would welcome us as allies."

The king shifted in his chair and one of his hands disappeared beneath the table in response to her statement, "What are your intentions then, milady, if you have not been sent by your father?" His voice held a dangerous quality to it and she felt the hairs on her arms raise at the sound.

"My intentions, majesty, are the same as I stated before your tent, to escort you to my father. Nothing more and nothing less. I, unlike some I have become acquainted with, do not make false statements or mislead with my intentions." The intended barb was sent out but she was unable to gage if he caught it, her eyes darting towards Lady Stark for a moment, looking for any recognition of her intention. She saw a flash of guilt upon the woman's face but when she looked back to the king she saw only coldness and no remorse. Sascha sighed and leaned forward, resting her weight on her elbows. "My father did not receive the reports I spoke of, I did. I have recently returned to my father's household, after mourning my husband's passing, and I intercepted the reports before they could be relayed to him. After reading these reports I saw wisdom in riding out to meet you before my father could see them himself. I was only able to delay them until my successful return."

"Successful." The king rested both his hands on the table and laced his fingers together as he too leaned forward, "What would make your return successful?"

She mimicked his movements, even though she knew it would most likely goad him, and also laced her fingers together, her gaze never wavering. "You and your forces returning with me. Unless this happens, in two days' time, I cannot stop the contents of the reports from reaching my father's ears."

If it were at all possible for his eyes to narrow more, his voice to grow more dangerous, or his face to harden more, it did. "I ask again, milady, what was in these reports?"

She glanced at Lady Stark. Surely she knew of what she was about to accuse the king of but she wanted to give her the chance to leave. When the woman gave no indication of budging she mentally sighed and leveled his gaze back upon the king, "Let us speak plainly."

"I thought we had been." He interjected.

She frowned, though she had to fight the urge to smile; it seemed that perhaps he had a similar sense of humor to her own, dark though it may be. "Well then I'll hedge no longer." She mustered up the rest of her courage and rushed forward with her words. "Have you or have you not taken Talisa Maegyr into your tent?"

The king surged to his feet, his chair threatening to topple over, "How dare you ask such questions. You have no right-"

"I have every right." She also stood and faced down his ire with her own previously bottled up frustrations. "You swore an oath to my father to forge a marital alliance between your house and his. You then used Frey bridges and Frey provisions to aid you in your war against the Lannister's. If the reports are true, now that victory appears to be yours for the taking, you have negated on your oath and seek to renegotiate in order to free yourself to wed another." His hardened expression fell into one of shock. The arrow struck home then and her fears had been confirmed, even if not with his words then with his reaction. "Can you deny these things, lord king?"

"What you have accused King Robb of just now, were what were in the reports?" His mother asked when he did not immediately answer and she nodded her head in confirmation. "And you said your father has not seen them yet?"

Sascha did her best to soften her voice. She was not a hard woman, she did have sympathies and empathy, but there was no way to soften facts. "No, Lady Stark, he has not. However, they will be conveyed to him should I not return with King Robb himself by my side, the alliance still standing between the Starks and Frey's. I do not think I need to warn you that my father is not above repaying betrayal with betrayal. Anyone less than King Robb himself as a future son-in-law will be seen as a betrayal and my father will repay in kind."

"Are you threatening us?" Robb growled out his question, his hand drifting to the hilt of his sword.

She also dropped her hand to her sword-hilt, more out of instinct than a desire to fight. She was not the best fighter in the world, most assuredly not to the degree of Lady Brienne. But growing up with bastard brothers for the most part, who all enjoyed mischievous ploys, had caused her to learn a thing to two. Then with Robar's schooling, she'd learned how to defend herself more readily. "I am conveying facts, King Robb. I felt you should know these things before you made a decision you could not reverse."

"Why," his mother stepped closer, her hands clasped tight in front of her body, "why are you telling us this?"

Sascha sighed and for a moment closed her eyes. "I know the nature of my father and I know the reputation of my family." When she opened them she looked to Lady Stark. Sascha had not known her own mother—she'd died not long after giving birth to Sascha—and she wondered if her mother would've acted like Lady Stark or not. "I have not been away so long to have forgotten these things. I also know what my father is capable of if he feels himself betrayed." She moved her hand away from her sword and rubbed at her wrist before she looked up and gave the king her full attention again. "You have fought battles and won, and indeed the war could be over soon. So many have died already but thus far the killing has remained, for the most part, on the battlefield. Should you not follow through with your oath, I can guarantee you this: the killing will no longer be on the battlefields alone."

Robb stared at her a moment longer, the shock, the anger, all of it retreated into a look of neutrality. She could not perceive what it was he was thinking. "I would ask to speak to my mother alone now, Lady Royce. My men will see to it that you and yours are looked after until we can meet again."

The deed done, and expected deliberation about to start, she nodded and turned to leave. However, there was something tickling the back of her mind and she knew she could not leave until she spoke it aloud. So she paused at the entrance to the tent and spoke over her shoulder, "If it is true, about the other woman, then know that Walder Frey cares not if his future son-in-law has mistresses a plenty. He merely wants a marriage alliance to secure his power and cares not for the vows of fidelity said between spouses."

She left them then, to deliberate and discuss, all the while hoping the decision would be a wise one. Wolfred met her outside and she shook her head. He grunted and turned to rejoin the rest of her men standing near a copse of trees at the end of the camp. Sascha made to join them but was stopped by none other than Lady Brienne herself.

"Lady Royce." Brienne bowed her head in greeting.

"Lady Brienne." Sascha returned the greeting. "It has been some time since we last saw one another."

"Indeed m'lady." Brienne looked towards the tent then back at Sascha. "I wish we could have met under less troubling circumstances."

Sascha chuckled, surprising the larger woman. "It appears, however, that every time we see each other, it is under 'troubling circumstances.'"

Brienne's lips quirked into what could be described as a wry smile, or a grimacing one at least. Sascha continued to share the strange humor with the woman until she heard movement behind her and turned to see the king step out of the tent. His gaze immediately honed in on her position and he gestured for her to return. Sascha took a deep breath and sent a silent prayer to whatever gods existed that all would be well.


	2. Marriage Negotiation

A Marriage Negotiation: Sascha

Sascha was still reeling. She was aware of where she now stood—the great hall—and beside whom she was standing—King Robb and a collection of his bannermen—but her mind was wandering back and forth between the present—her father's welcoming ceremony—and just moments prior when she'd been greeted by her sisters. In the time frame that she'd been absent on her retrieval quest, her father had—apparently—secured a backup plan for the Frey's in the guise of her sister Walda's betrothal to none other than Roose Bolton. Of course, her father had no doubt been in communication with Bolton for weeks now, if not months, but the decision had been made final in that short timeframe and she'd only just been made aware of it. Sascha couldn't help but wonder if Robb was aware of this alliance between her father and one of his own bannermen. What did it mean?

Far from offering comfort to Sascha, this promised alliance further solidified her fears that her father would ruthlessly and drastically seek vengeance against Robb and his people should he choose to negate on their alliance terms. Yes, the alliance with the Bolton's would serve the Frey's well, but Sascha knew her father well enough to know that anything less than the king himself would require decisive action, and actions that would most likely result in much bloodshed. But what it meant that her father had chosen Bolton, or that Bolton would've chosen to accept the alliance when he was supposedly allied with Robb in this war, Sascha hadn't had the time to analyze the many possible answers to those questions.

"My honored guests." Sascha now stood beside the king and a few of his men, those he'd chosen to accompany him right away. They were standing before her father in the dimness of a dying day. The great hall was packed with her siblings and their wives and children, leaving little room to move, let alone breathe. She knew her father had gathered them all here on purpose, as further reminder to the King of the North of what it was he'd very nearly had to fight against, had he chosen differently. "Be welcome within my walls and at my table." Robb accepted the bread and salt that was offered to him and each of his men did so in turn. When it was offered to her she hesitated, wondering if they'd been too late in returning and now the bread and salt were poisoned—especially in lieu of her sister's report. With a quick look to one of her brothers, she saw no indication of such a trick and so accepted the bread and ate. "I extend to you my hospitality and my protection in the light of the Seven."

Sascha bit the inside of her cheek to keep from snorting in disdain. She was certain the King felt no such welcome. From the moment they'd stepped foot inside the great hall she'd seen the looks of contempt and distrust thrown at the man's feet. For his part, however, Robb had thus far conducted himself cordially and regally and had risen above the sneers. Commendable though that was, Sascha still couldn't help but feel a smidgen of contempt herself for what it was Robb had very nearly done. Growing up at the hands of a self-serving near lunatic had taught Sascha how to appreciate all the more those who had a sense of honor and integrity. That she'd found such a man in her past husband had been a blessing and a curse both. A blessing in that it had allowed her the time and ability to grow into who she was now—no longer the fearful creature victimized at her father's hands. A curse in that things had never been as they should've been between her and Robar and then he'd been taken from her without provisions for her future.

"We thank you for your hospitality." The King bowed his head slightly towards her father, and then to her brothers seated on either side of the great seat. "I've come to make my apologies my lord, and to beg your forgiveness for my extended delay in arriving."

Her father's face twisted into what she knew was his version of a smile. "Don't beg my forgiveness your grace. It wasn't me you near spurned with your delay, it was one from amongst my daughters." He signaled and out from behind his throne traipsed two long lines of her sisters and cousins. She noticed that Walda did not join the others in front of the king but instead held back by the wall. When Sascha tried to make eye contact, however, Walda returned her gaze to the floor.

Her father took the time to introduce each one of her sisters, although he messed up on the second to last. He left her out though, as she was the only one of his daughters to have been married, widowed, and returned. Other daughters had been married off, but their marriages continued on and they had babes to take care of as well. Only she had "failed" at marriage and returned. Her father had yet to really have an audience with her since her return in fact. He'd always had some excuse to not see her and she very much felt unwelcome in her old household—not that she'd ever found the place to fully welcoming in any degree before. Walder Frey probably wondered what it was that would bring her back here, especially since he knew as well as she that there was no lost love between them. She'd been happy to leave the Twins when she'd married, and he happy to be rid of her. Since she'd come back, whenever they had spoken to each other it was as strangers, and barely civil ones at that.

The King stepped forward and looked at each of her sisters as he spoke. "My ladies, all men should keep their words, kings most of all. I was placed to marry one of you and I will not break that vow."

Her father clapped his hands, a near mocking sound, and her sisters began to file out of the room. Her youngest sister, Shirei, hesitated by the great seat and looked over her shoulder at Sascha. Shirei would often join Sascha in her experiments and work and no doubt she wanted Sascha to tell her the tales of what she'd seen and done on her quest. Glancing to the side, she wondered if it was wise to leave the King so soon after this sort of audience. There'd been no guarantee of his safety, no reassurance that her father was still in good faith either. Roose Bolton had not accompanied the bannermen with Robb now; he'd remained back with the majority of Robb's forces and only a smaller contingency had come before Walder. Therefore, it could be that Roose would launch a coup again Robb and abscond with his forces, or attempt to, while Robb would now be assassinated by the Frey's. Or it could be that the alliance between one of Robb's bannermen, and the additional renewed promise made by Robb himself now, would serve to protect him from her father's dubious nature.

As her mind reeled over these things, her father drew up close before them and glared at her, most likely sensing her distrust. She looked over his shoulder to Shirei again who in turn gave her a small smile. She had no reason to stay, no logical argument, and so she sighed and moved away from the King and her father. Shirei opened her arms to Sascha and she quickly picked her up—one of the only sisters who was still fairly innocent and loving, as surprising as that was in this place. In some ways, because of their age difference, Sascha felt to be more of a mother to Shirei than an elder sister. At moments where that thought flashed in her mind, she felt her stomach clench with a strange force connected to her heart. She'd never been given the opportunity to bare children with Robar; it had been impossible because of his injury. But that hadn't stopped her desires for one in the latter years of her marriage. It had actually been after Robar's suggestion that she take up a discrete affair in order to sire an heir that he'd been cut down by Brienne of Tarth, rendering moot any arguments or needs for said heir.

Sascha spent the following hour or so with her sisters. They were curious about the King's forces, and about the King himself. Apparently, though Walda had been auctioned off to Roose Bolton, it was still not decided who among them was to marry the King. Sascha figured it would either be Roslin or Merry as they were the prettiest amongst her sisters, and the best educated for the position. She tried to keep the report on the king based off of facts and her observations, and not opinions. It was difficult to not pass judgment here or there and her contempt for his near oathbreaking did come through to her sisters. When she was called away to meet her father by one of her brothers, she found herself thankful for the break from their interrogation.

Sascha found her father pacing on the north wall of the keep, staring down at the bridge she'd helped refurbish some years before. He had never given verbal recognition or support of her abilities for engineering and design and it had not been directly from him that she'd been given permission to experiment with her designs in the abandoned keep across the fallow field. He'd always known of her experiments—it was difficult to disguise explosions after all—and he'd tolerated it by saying nothing. He was a cunning enough man to know that Sascha's abilities were a gift that would bless any who allowed her to use them and the Twins had been truly blessed by her work—it was more efficient, better protected, and far more advanced than many other keeps in the area because she'd been able to apply her machine designs here and there.

Her father barely acknowledged her presence when she came to stand beside him at the wall. She'd been his firstborn, at least the first to survive. She'd had three brothers and two sisters before her, but they'd all died in childbirth or soon after it. Then she'd appeared and though she had no memory of it she'd been told that her first few months with her father had been pleasant enough, at least what the man could offer to someone else in this world. But then her mother had died and he'd become a changed man. He began to rut around with anyone who had breasts and her number of half-siblings dramatically increased within a short amount of time. And being the eldest, and a daughter to boot, she'd borne the brunt of his moods. Her body still had scars and her mind as well of just what happened when he was in one of his moods, or when he was drunk.

"He's a young runt nipping at my heels." Her father finally spoke and caused Sascha to wryly smile, the mental image created by her father both pleasing and accurate in her opinion. "He should know that kings depend upon their vassals more than vassals depend upon their kings. Kings rise and fall, but vassals and rivers remain." Sascha kept silent, knowing that her father would continue and also would most likely not welcome her interruption or opinions. "You will leave here Sascha." She stepped forward and laid her hands upon the cold stone of the wall. The chill it sent through her body kept her silent even when she wanted to yell back her questions. She also had the scars to remind her of what happened when she questioned her father. "I don't like how you influence your sisters. Having one headstrong bitch of a daughter is bad enough. With your around, the house will come to ruination soon enough."

"Afraid they may begin to think for themselves father?"

He turned towards her with such hatred in his eyes she flinched, momentarily afraid of the pain his assault would cause as she'd been as a child. But the pain never came and when she opened her eyes she saw the hatred recede into a satisfied gleam—he found her reaction just as satisfying as if he'd actually hit her. Sascha felt bile rise in her throat for allowing her old fear to return. She looked back towards the bridge and tightened her grip on the stones. She would not flinch again.

"The pup doesn't deserve to marry Roslin or Merry." Her father continued as if she'd never spoken. "He thinks he can come strutting into my keep after rutting around with some harlot and expect me to give him my best?" He glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes and saw that she'd gone deathly still. "You really think there is only one line of communication, daughter? You think I would not know of these things? A man does not reach my age by depending upon one person." He laughed, the sound wheezing and joyless. "It is good that you went through the trouble to retrieve him though. We would not want all his efforts to avenge his father to end up in bloody vain now would we? Though I've secured one house in more northern territory through the Bolton's, I'd be much more satisfied with securing the throne of the north. That would serve my purposes much better."

The threat behind his words was felt by her then and another chill, this one not caused by the stones, wracked her body. She did not want to think of what it was her father would've done had she not convinced the King to return with her. Sascha envisioned lots of death, blood, and tears and she wished that upon no one—not even the Lannisters. She was different from many in her family, perhaps because of the education her husband had given her. She felt no desire to seek vengeance against an entire household for a slight made against her by a single man. Let the matter be settled between the two initially involved and be done with it. How much simpler would Westeros be if that was how all houses looked upon each other.

"He's waiting in the great hall. Go and see what he has to say about the alliance."

Sascha opened her mouth to ask further questions for clarification but remembered his earlier near attack and closed her mouth instead. She did not wish to feel the sting of his hand, or further the sting of his insults. Instead she retreated from the wall and made her way to the great hall. If her own audience with her father was any indication of what he'd been like meeting with the King then it was entirely possible that he'd sent her to placate him into accepting a lesser choice.

She laid her hand upon the doorknob to the great hall and took a deep breath, letting it out as she pushed the door open. She found the King alone in the room, his body hunched over the end of the great table as if in deep thought. She closed the door behind her and spoke only after she could bring her hands in front of her again. "My father bid me meet with you." She watched as his bowed head flew upwards and around to stare at her. She worried that he'd twist it right off with how quickly he'd turned to look at her. "What is that you wish to discuss?"

She made sure to keep her earlier distaste of the man, and her own frustrations against her father, wiped clean of her face. The longer the King stared at her, however, the harder it was not to squirm under his gaze. She knew that her outfit was possibly one reason why he was staring, people in the north did not often wear bodices with trousers and half-skirts—a fashion she'd picked up from living in her husband's household. It was a practical outfit and afforded her the ease of movement she required for doing experiments while at the same time offered some slight feminine qualities, which reminded her of her role as a Lady—which she often wished to forget.

"Your grace?" She asked again when he still did not respond to her entrance.

Upon his face was a look of confusion and revulsion. "You." It wasn't a question, more of an accusation and she flinched as if he'd hit her. "I'm to marry you?"

Her stomach gave out and again her throat filled with bile. So this was her father's game? She was sending her into the wolf's den, sacrificing her instead of her sisters. His disgust with her was so great that he was willing to sell her off to this whelp of a man, who seemed as interested in marrying her as she was in him. "What did you say?" Her voice was low and she felt it rumble out of her chest.

The King ran a hand through his hair, causing it to stick up haphazardly, as he turned and kicked at the legs of one of the chairs at the great table. He fell into his seat but kept his eyes on her as he did so. They were cold and distrusting. "It seems that your father has decided that we are to be wed, if I'm understanding this situation correctly." She made no move, dared not flinch. From his earlier reaction to seeing her it appeared that he'd not known if was to be her just as she'd not known it was to be her as well. "Did you know of this when you so selflessly came to fetch me?" His voice dripped with sarcasm and again she felt as if he were striking her with each word he spoke. "That I would marry you upon our return? Was this your true motive for retrieving the King of the North, to secure for yourself an advantageous match after such a short and as I hear it, fruitless marriage?"

A hot bolt of anger erupted from her belly and shot both into her feet and up into her head. She knew her face and neck were flushing and she had to clench and unclench her fists at her side to keep from launching herself at him and pummeling him into a pulp—or at least trying. How dare he talk about her husband! How dare he throw such insults at her after he'd been caught guilty of infidelity on an oath and near ready to break it fully! She shifted her weight back and forth on her feet, weighing the pros and cons of leaving right now and finding something to blow up with her latest experiment. But she knew there would be no place she could hide from her father's wrath, or her newfound duty to her family. So instead she marched across the room, pulled out a chair, and took her time in situating herself across from him.

"King Robb," her voice was eerily calm when she finally spoke and she was glad that she'd not given into the urge to yell since his reaction to her calmness was much more satisfying with how it set him fidgeting, "I do not take kindly to accusations of any kind against my character, especially without evidence aside from one's own predisposed opinion." She folded her hands together and leveled her gaze upon him. "I also believe any slanderous reference to my previous marriage is as insulting to myself as it is to my deceased husband, a man I highly respected and who was worthy of such." Her hands tightened, her knuckles going white, then loosened, the color returning to normal. "Whatever displeasure you have with this current situation I would ask that you voice that displeasure in a manner befitting a king, and not a petty child told he cannot have his dessert."

The king slapped his hands upon the table and stood to his feet, "How dare you speak to me in this manner!" He sounded exactly like the child she accused him of being.

She slapped her own hands on the table but did not stand, "How dare you think to break an oath with my father and then sneer at me when you find that it is I whom you're to be saddled with!" He opened his mouth to speak but her raised voice carried on over his own initial response. "You accused me of orchestrating this match?" She waved a hand between them. "To be frank, majesty," her emphasis on his title dripped of sarcasm, "I would rather marry a white walker than be married to a man who holds me and my family in contempt and who prefers the presence of another woman."

"Then why marry me?" He near yelled back at her and she suddenly felt the urge to tear her hair out and sit in a corner and shake uncontrollably. Did he really think that this was her idea? She sighed and shook her head.

"Contrary to what you might think, King Robb, but I did not know before I came into this room a moment ago that I was your intended bride. All my father indicated to me was that I was to meet you here in the great hall for a discussion of matters pertaining to your alliance with him." She smiled then, recalling all that her father had said, and left unsaid between them. "I suppose it is my own foolishness to think that I would be exempt of this possibility; you already referenced the reasons why I believed such. I am a widow and though I was married to my husband for two years we did not produce any children together." She brought her gaze back to his face from where it had wandered downwards to the table. "The nature of my marriage and childlessness of it are not to be mocked, King Robb, I will not tolerate that."

"If you are to be my wife," he put special emphasis on the first word, "then you will have to learn to tolerate much more than my contrary opinions."

Was he truly so heartless, so wrapped up in his own desires, that he could not see when he'd slighted her? That the slight was not the type a husband should give to his wife, or even betrothed. Did he truly believe that a man, a king, could come and go without thinking once of another? She sighed, finding no other argument to throw at him that he'd not throw back at her in a childish, selfish manner. The king sat again and neither one of them spoke for some time. She had not a clue what it was he was thinking but she had already begun mulling over all that she knew of this man, her perhaps possible future husband.

Her husband had told her of all the houses of the Westeros, in much greater detail than her Septa had been able to. Of the Starks he'd mentioned honor and integrity, two qualities that she saw the man sitting before her and yet she saw him lacking in both as well. Perhaps losing his father, his sisters, and fighting this war had not brought out the best in him—though she'd always thought harsh times were like the fire in a blacksmith's shop: they were what shaped you into your strongest form.

What she'd seen of this king in their past few meetings had made her painfully aware of the age difference between them. True she was only six years his elder but from the petty ways in which he spoke, the impulsive ways in which he acted, those six years might as well have been sixty. That he'd find a match with her to be so revolting, and would show it thusly, was testimony to his "runt" like qualities that her father had mentioned earlier.

Loathed as she was to agree with her father, it seemed that her future husband was more of a runt than a wolf. Though, if they were to marry, and he accepted her guidance, perhaps she could help him grow into the wolf that his family line had so long been like before him. She looked across the table towards him and saw his emotions play out on his face. When she saw a glimmer of hope she smirked and shook her head; she knew what that hope was for.

"If you ask to marry one of my sisters," she sat up straighter in her chair when he looked over to her, his expression now one of surprise, as if he worried that he'd spoken his thoughts aloud, "my father will refuse."

"How do you know?"

She smiled, "A few other things he indicated to me before I met you here," she held up her hand and began to count off the items with her fingers as she continued, "I was not going to be staying here much longer as he felt I was a bad influence on my sisters; you did not deserve to marry any of his pretty or sweet daughters because of how long you delayed; I was foolish to think that he hadn't already known of your dalliance with 'the woman' but that it was good I'd retrieved you as if I hadn't things would be much worse than they already will be." She dropped her hands into her lap. "I believe we can accurately deduct from those statements that he was referencing the fact that after we are married I will be returning with you and your forces to Winterfell; you will marry me, the least desirable option, as punishment for your almost betrayal of the oath, and that if you think otherwise he will follow through with whatever horrible backup plan he'd already had near set in motion before we returned."

The king looked at her for a few moments, studying her expression for signs of duplicity no doubt—she knew he'd only find her tired resignation—then replied, "If we are to marry," she raised an eyebrow at his continued use of the conditional, "we must come to terms with one another."

"Indeed." Now he wanted to play nice with her? She would play along, for the time being, and see where his intended destination may be. "And how might we do that? Should we draw up our own contract?" He grew quiet again, as if in deep thought, and she quickly added. "I was in jest, your grace."

"It is not a bad thought, Lady Royce. I understand that we are coming together under less than ideal circumstances and should we discuss these circumstances in manners befitting king and lady," she fought a smile at his reference to her earlier accusation, "then perhaps we can alleviate some of the pressures that have been put upon us."

"What is it that you wish to discuss? From your earlier indications, it seems that you know enough about me to pass judgment."

He looked ready to argue with her but then he surprised her by calmly responding, "And the same could be said of you to me, milady." She began to nibble on her lower lip, caught between surprise at his sudden spark of maturity and her own confusion over his intentions. "You are already aware of certain aspects of my past dealings that would make any future bride nervous and uncomfortable."

She stopped chewing and frowned, "I am not a blushing virgin, your grace. I am well aware of the goings on between men and women outside of marriage, even if I do not partake in such things." She'd had her offers, even while her husband had been alive, but she'd never been interested. All the free time that she had she devoted to her experiments and she found the added drama of pursuing lovers—as she saw from those around her—would be too tiresome to get anything productive done. She'd been angry at Robar when he'd suggested she take on a lover in order to sire an heir. And their last words to one another had been less than kind, much to her continued regret.

"In any case, Lady Royce," the king's voice brought her back from her musings, "I believe it would be pertinent if we were to discuss said dealings so that we can both understand where it is our marriage will go once the oath has been sworn."

She raised an eyebrow. This was the first time he hadn't said, "if" in regards to their union. She sought to reassure him, slightly, before he talked himself into a corner.

"Your grace, you need not justify your relationship with this other woman to me. I have been privy to many a discussion made by my men, or by my late husband's men, of how men and women can grow close to one another during dangerous times. As I understand it, she and yourself were given the opportunity to grow close and you did so, under trying circumstances. Your forged a bond with one another that outsiders may not understand and for which you were near willing to sacrifice an alliance for."

The look of surprise on his face was like salve to her heart. She hoped she'd proven to him that she was observant and that she was a mind to contend with, not just a body to marry. Perhaps this was a good sign for their marriage.

"Then if you know this, you must also know that I will not just give her up." Then again: maybe not. With his words he further proved to her how selfish he truly was and how much of a nuisance he already found her to be, and they weren't even married yet. "Alliance or no, she will be under my protection and provision for the rest of her days."

She leaned forward and asked, "Will our marriage always be like this, your grace?"

"What do you mean?" He also leaned forward, mimicking her.

"Will our marriage consist of you making decisions and only telling me after the fact, without any prior warning or perhaps even discussion of the matter? Is that how marriages work in the North?" She looked at him closely, trying to perceive what it was he wanted from her, from this marriage. He gave no indication of either. "Perhaps I am mistaken over the nature of marriages. I grew up with my father's version and knew intimately that that was not what I wanted or intended to accept, no matter the consequences of fighting a possible husband of like-mindedness to my father. My late husband was the antithesis to my father thankfully, and he encouraged openness between us, mutual respect and honor. When decisions were made in our household we had dual responsibility for it, as I was always consulted and could weigh in on the decision." She folded her hands together again. "I would know now, your grace, if I am to expect a marriage like that of my father or like that of my previous husband with you."

Robb opened his mouth to speak but she continued suddenly, cutting him off, "If you had consulted me regarding Lady Talisa I would have encouraged you to do as you have done. You cannot cast her out, not now, at least not unless she has an advantageous marriage offer that would ensure her safety and wellbeing." She suddenly sighed and leaned back, looking up at him and allowing the sadness of their future union to pass over her face. "But you did not consult me, did not give me the chance, and now we may begin our marriage with the knowledge that you consult only yourself in regards to matters of the heart, whereas you have a counsel of men to consult with on all other matters, leaving no room for your future wife."

"I did not consult you, Lady Royce, because in truth it did not concern you." It was official: her future husband was an idiot. She had to bite the inside her cheek to keep from calling him thus. "The husband is the provider and protector of the wife, the wife the mother of his heirs. There need not be any consulting between husband and wife over matters of state, only matters of home."

Morbid amusement rushed through her and she fought the urge to giggle at his absurdity, "A former lover of my husband living in our house is not a matter of home with which to discuss? Most interesting logic, your grace, please enlighten me of more such tidbits of wisdom."

"You mock me, lady."

She finally gave into the maniacal urge to laugh at him and stood to her full height, staring down at his surprised face. "And you me. You come into my father's house thinking you can repair the damage you caused to an alliance by marrying one of his daughters, without thought or concern over which daughter and whether or not she wants to marry you. You mistreat those around you for the sake of a strategic bridge, and I speak not of just myself but also of your lover Lady Talisa. You strut around with the arrogance of a king but the maturity of a boy." He stood to his feet so quickly his chair fell to the floor and she let out a joyless laugh as she pointed towards the fallen chair. "See? You cannot control your temper when the truth, or even untruth, is thrown in your face. You say a husband is the protector and provider of his wife, the leader of the household; but how can this wife expect that husband," she thrust her finger in his direction, "to do much of either when he cannot provide for the wife's wellbeing not just in body but also in soul, when he cannot protect her from his own temper and ire? When he cannot lead the household into harmony when he himself sows discord with his tantrums and unwillingness to listen."

She couldn't stand to look at him anymore, listen to his absurdities anymore. She was going to find her father and tell him that she'd leave the Twins but she was not going to marry King Robb. Suddenly she felt his hands on her upper arms and was nearly pulled off her feet with how quickly he had her twirled and set between himself and the table. While her mind knew that it was King Robb of the North, a small part inside her did not. This small part, an echo of her childhood, took over. She rotated her lower arms upward, causing his grip on her uppers arms to loosen. She then slammed one of her heels on his foot and brought her other knee up and caught him in his stomach when he'd begun to lean over from the pain. Then she reached out and grabbed his upper arms and jerked him forward and around her until it was he pinned to the end of the table.

He was still sucking in much needed breath when she spoke, "I will not be manhandled, your grace. I ask that you use your words to stay me, and not your body." She rubbed at her wrists as if the movement could ease the years old pain left behind.

"My lady, I apologize," he wheezed out, "I ask your forgiveness." He rubbed a hand over his stomach before standing to his full height again, only barely taller than the woman herself. "I feared that you would leave before we could settle this."

The childhood fear abated and her earlier sarcastic disgust at the prospect of marrying him returned, "Settle what, your grace? The projection of a loveless, lifeless, joyless marriage where my value is a high as the ground upon which you walk?"

The king frowned, "I realize now that my words were harsh and the intentions unclear. I ask your forgiveness for that as well." She noticed that they still stood close, his rear still pressed against the table, but he didn't seem to find the proximity a problem and so she didn't make a move to shift away. "You are correct in that a husband should lead a household by example that he should look after not just the physical wellbeing of those under his protection but also the emotional and mental wellbeing as well. I have every intention of doing just that."

"But," she interrupted and smiled, "I sense a 'but' coming from you."

He surprised her by smiling a similar smile at her, "I cannot guarantee that I will always have the time to take into consideration your view on matters of state. I cannot guarantee that I will always have your feelings at the forefront of my mind when I make a decision. The decisions I make must be for the best of the realm, and not just the household. Surely you understand the sacrifices we will both have to make as King and Queen of the North?"

Sacrifices must be made on both parts, she wanted to add, and kings must lead by example. Kings should be the most observant of all within a kingdom, and not blind to the damage they cause to those around them. She did not say these things, however, and instead she stepped back and clasped her hands in front of her body in as demure a position as she could make her body assume. "I do understand, your grace. I will endeavor to conduct myself in a manner befitting a queen."

"Robb." She looked up. "I believe it is customary between future spouses to address each other by name." He rubbed his stomach again. "Especially when one spouse has trounced the other."

She smiled, that was the closest to a compliment he'd given her since they'd met. It was also an offered truce and she was too tired to keep on fighting. "Well Robb, I promise to contain my displeasure with you to behind closed doors."

"Very well, Sascha." Robb offered her his arm. "I know this does not erase the pain I've caused or the insult I've given to your family, but I do hope that we may begin this marriage with true understanding of one another."

She studied his face for a moment before she accepted his arm and said with a hint of sadness, "That is a good intention, milord, and hopefully not impossible."

* * *

A Marriage Negotiation: Robb

Robb's introduction into the Frey household had been far from cordial. From the moment he and a smaller contingency of his men had set foot inside the Twin's he'd been met with one look of contempt after another. Even the formal ceremonial greeting from Walder Frey himself had been dripping with barely veiled disdain and distrust. Lady Royce had been aware of all this and perhaps that had been why she'd stayed near his side through it all, her men mixing in with his own and fanning out to their flanks when they'd come to stand in the great hall. She'd hesitated in eating the bread and salt when it'd been offered, and he couldn't help but wonder at just what sort of childhood she'd lived through that she would doubt the sincerity of her own father.

The introductions to Walder's various daughters had been tedious and confusing. There'd been so many and of all ages, he couldn't be called upon to remember who was who at this time even if a sword was pressed to his throat. After the introductions, Lord Frey seemed somewhat satisfied and had called for a private meeting with Robb. Lady Royce had again hesitated, this time in leaving his side, but after a glare from her father she'd retreated with the rest of her sisters. He'd watched her pick up the youngest daughter, her sister, on her way out. Strange, but she hadn't seemed to be the motherly type. Then again, he'd known her for barely more than a day and in that time they'd had only one cordial conversation with one another.

The ride to the Twin's had been hurried to say the least. He'd had to leave the majority of his forces behind with instructions to join them at the Twin's as soon as they could manage. With the smaller force, including his larger built bannermen, he'd rode with Lady Royce and her men to meet her father. They'd had to camp one night out in the Riverlands but that had not offered much in way of revealing Lady Royce's character to him. She'd remained distant, keeping mostly to her men, and had only communicated with him when necessary. He'd watched her with her men, however, and could easily see that she commanded them through example and not through might. As difficult and tense as things were between them, Robb admired her for that at least.

His conversation, if it could be called that though it had been more of a swallowing-of-his-pride chastisement from a dastardly conniving browbeater, with Walder Frey still burned hotly in his mind as Robb now sat alone at the great table. The hall was empty and he awaited his future bride without support from mother, uncle, or friend. It had nearly been a quarter of an hour since Lord Frey had left, with the intention of finding Robb's future bride for an official introduction before the wedding—to take place in three days' time. Yes, his future bride, a Frey girl, and not Talisa.

Robb laid his head in the palms of his hands, elbows braced on the table, his fingers scratching at his scalp—as if the comforting gesture would erase the painful memory of first debating with his mother, then later, of having to tell Talisa the results of said debate. His mother had been a staunch supporter of Lady Royce's arguments; she'd even reminded him of Grey Wolf's attack on Greatjon all those months before when Robb had accused him of being an oath breaker. At that reminder, the words that Robb had had ready in his throat to throw back at his mother—and in turn Lady Royce—had died, swallowed along with his pride. It was true; he knew it in his soul even if his heart was still set upon Talisa. If he chose her over the oath he'd sworn to Lord Frey then he'd be just as guilty as Greatjon nearly had been and no better than the Kingslayer himself. He would be throwing away a valuable alliance at the climax of a series victories, at the most delicate moment of either winning the war or leaving everything in ruins.

Explaining this to Talisa, however, had not been as easy as it had been for him to see and accept it—even if he did not like to accept it. She'd asked what of his oath to her, what of the bond they'd shared; she'd questioned what she was to become—the once lover to the King of the North—and where was she to go if he was to marry and she was no longer welcome amongst his people? All valid questions and his head still hurt as he'd yet to find all the answers.

He'd reassured her that no matter what he would always love her first and foremost and that that had not changed. She'd fallen into his arms crying at that point and every tear she'd shed had been like a knife thrust to his heart. He'd continued with telling her that the bond they'd created between them could not be broken—he hadn't wanted to ask if she was willing to stay with him, in bed and out, even though he was to be married to another; but she'd deserved better than that and he would not demean her in that fashion. He'd very nearly given into the desire to wipe away her tears with cries of pleasure then and so had stepped away from her and placed himself across the tent from her in order to continue.

Next he'd promised her protection, even from his future bride if need be, and had promised her welcome amongst his people and in his kingdom for as long as she lived. Her counter argument had him pausing, "But what if, for your next bridge, you are required to give me up?" When he hadn't been able to answer she'd left his tent, but not the camp he was told later, and then he'd followed Lady Royce and her men back to the Twins.

Thinking back on his initial audience with Lord Frey, Robb groaned aloud. It had been grating and he'd very nearly lost his temper more than once. The old man had insulted him time and again for delaying and had made insulations—fairly close to the truth in reality—about why Robb had delayed. The meeting had ended with Robb swearing once more his oath to follow through with the marriage alliance and with Lord Frey grinning wolfishly at him in return. Then the man had left Robb alone to mull over the inevitable marriage alliance.

"My father bid me meet with you." Robb's head felt it would snap clear off his shoulders with the speed in which he looked up and over his shoulder at the woman now standing inside the great hall with him. "What is that you wish to discuss?"

None other than Lady Royce stared at him in return, her face devoid of any expression that could give him a clue as to what she was feeling or thinking in this moment. She'd changed from the battle gear in which he'd first seen her into an equally odd arrangement of clothing: a gold embroidered black bodice that was connected to a black skirt with similar gold embroidery that had an open front, under which she wore black trousers and black boots. The outfit had a strange mixture of feminine and masculine qualities—much like the woman herself—and Robb wasn't sure if it was the outfit or the woman that had him momentarily sputtering for words.

"Your grace?" She asked again, making Robb painfully aware of his lack of response—aside from gaping.

"You." It wasn't a question, more of an accusation—even he heard the accusatory tone in his voice. He saw her jerk her head to the side as if he'd physically slapped her. "I'm to marry you?"

This time he did not have to wonder what it was she was feeling: she made it quite plain with her sudden look of disgust and anger. "What did you say?" Her voice was low and, if he wasn't mistaken, there was a dangerous quality to it that made it seem like she was growling.

Robb suddenly felt the need to sit down. Using his foot, he kicked at one of the chair's legs until it shifted away from the table enough for him to sit. "It seems that your father has decided that we are to be wed, if I'm understanding this situation correctly." He kept his eyes on her face as he lowered himself into the chair—so far he saw no indication that she'd known of this decision prior to coming into the great hall, but then again she could be very clever. He decided to put her to the test with his next words, "Did you know of this when you so selflessly came to fetch me? That I would marry you upon our return? Was this your true motive for retrieving the King of the North, to secure for yourself an advantageous match after such a short and as I hear it, fruitless marriage?"

He watched her fists as they clenched then unclenched by her sides. She'd yet to move from the doorway and from the way her body weight shifted on her feet he got the distinct impression that she wanted to run away. She didn't, of course she couldn't, and instead she came closer until she could pull out a chair across from him and sat down as well. She still maintained a tense silence as she tucked herself into the chair.

"King Robb," her voice was eerily calm when she finally spoke and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise in response, "I do not take kindly to accusations of any kind against my character, especially without evidence aside from one's own predisposed opinion." She folded her hands together and leveled her gaze upon him; he couldn't move, not with her staring at him like that. "I also believe any slanderous reference to my previous marriage is as insulting to myself as it is to my deceased husband, a man I highly respected and who was worthy of such." Her hands tightened, her knuckles going white, then loosened, the color returning to normal. "Whatever displeasure you have with this current situation I would ask that you voice that displeasure in a manner befitting a king, and not a petty child told he cannot have his dessert."

Robb, if he'd been Grey Wolf, would've growled in response to her own accusation. Instead, however, he slapped his hands on the table's surface and surged to his feet, "How dare you speak to me in this manner!" He couldn't remember the last time someone had spoken to him like that. Certainly not since he'd been a lad getting scolded by his mother.

She slapped her own hands on the table, "How dare you think to break an oath with my father and then sneer at me when you find that it is I whom you're to be saddled with!" He opened his mouth to speak but her raised voice carried on over his own. He was struck silent not just with her words but with the force of her altogether. She was a strange mixture of control and lack thereof. He wasn't quite sure what to expect next of her, in words or deed. "You accused me of orchestrating this match?" She waved a hand between them. "To be frank, majesty," her emphasis on his title dripped of sarcasm, "I would rather marry a white walker than be married to a man who holds me and my family in contempt and who prefers the presence of another woman."

"Then why marry me?" Robb found himself yelling the question at her as he'd not much liked being compared to a white walker. He watched as her face was emptied of all anger and her shoulders slumped in defeat almost immediately. He felt a smidgen of his own ire melt away at the sight.

"Contrary to what you might think, King Robb, but I did not know before I came into the room moments before that I was your intended bride. All my father indicated to me was that I was to meet you here in the great hall for a discussion of matters pertaining to your alliance with him." He watched as the corner of her mouth quirked upwards in a half smile, one that held no joy. "I suppose it is my own foolishness to think that I would be exempt of this possibility; you already referenced the reasons why I believed such. I am a widow and though I was married to my husband for two years we did not produce any children together." She brought her gaze back to his face from where it had wandered downwards to the table. "The nature of my marriage and childlessness of it are not to be mocked, King Robb, I will not tolerate that."

"If you are to be my wife," he put special emphasis on the first word, "then you will have to learn to tolerate much more than my contrary opinions."

She looked to argue with him once more, her mouth opening and closing in silence a few times, before she sighed and fell back into her chair—an almost childlike movement not at all matching the physical features or words of the woman he'd been arguing with. Robb waited a moment before he too sat down. Neither one of them spoke for some time. He had not a clue what it was she was thinking but he had already begun mulling over all that he knew of this woman, his perhaps possible future bride.

It had been his mother who'd told him of all the daughters of Lord Frey, the possible options for his marriage, and it had only been after his own further prompting that she'd filled him in on Lady Royce herself. From what his mother had known, Lady Sascha Royce was a headstrong but gracious woman, favored by the late King Renly for her ingenuity. His mother hadn't quite all the details but it seemed the Lady Sascha had an innate knack for designing "things" and that a few of her designs had been successfully employed by King Renly's army—for what good it'd done them in the end.

Lady Sascha, for all her otherwise unfeminine qualities, according to his mother, had been a loyal wife and had been seen to be kindly and even affectionate with her husband as well—proving that though fruitless, the marriage had not been an unhappy one. She had no enemies at court, but neither had she friends; mere acquaintances from what his mother had known, much preferring the sole company of her husband or herself to that of others.

From his own observations, it seemed that she was an odd mixture of obstinacy and compliancy. She did seem perfectly rational and had only responded to him with raised voice and anger after he'd provoked her—and he secretly agreed that he'd been reacting like a petulant child earlier but he wasn't about to tell her that. She was older than he as well, by at least a half dozen years. There were many reasons why he should be insulted by her as his future bride: the widow status, the possibility that she was unable to carry future heirs, and her age were just the ready few he could think of at this time. Perhaps, he began to smile, he could petition Walder for one of her other sisters citing those very reasons for refusal.

"If you ask to marry one of my sisters," she spoke again and he came back from his mental ponderings, wondering for a moment if he'd spoken his concerns aloud, "my father will refuse."

"How do you know?"

She smiled that joy-less smile again, "A few other things he indicated to me before I met you here," she held up her hand and began to count off the items with her fingers as she continued, "I was not going to be staying here much longer as he felt I was a bad influence on my sisters; you did not deserve to marry any of his pretty or sweet daughters because of how long you delayed; I was foolish to think that he hadn't already known of your dalliance with 'the woman' but that it was good I'd retrieved you as if I hadn't things would be much worse than they already will be." She dropped her hands into her lap. "I believe we can accurately deduct from those statements that he was referencing the fact that after we are married I will be returning with you and your forces to Winterfell; you will marry me, the least desirable option, as punishment for your almost betrayal of the oath, and that if you think otherwise he will follow through with whatever horrible backup plan he'd already had near set in motion before we returned."

Robb looked at her for a few moments, seeing nothing but resignation and fatigue in her expression, then replied, "If we are to marry," she raised an eyebrow at his continued use of the conditional term but he continued nonetheless, "we must come to terms with one another."

"Indeed." For a moment it looked as if she was amused by his statement. "And how might we do that? Should we draw up our own contract?"

He knew she was in jest but he found the idea appealing. Already he knew her to be an oddity with the fearless qualities of his youngest sister, the tenacity of his mother, and the sense of honor of his father. If they had an agreement between each other, prior to their public swearing of fealty to one another, then they might enter this marriage with at least a little less contempt for one another. He wasn't quite sure if she felt contempt for him, again she was a strange mixture of typical female outbursts and eerily contained calculations. But he knew for himself, that he'd feel much more comfortable if they could talk out some of the issues of concern he felt.

"I was in jest, your grace." It seemed that he'd again allowed his thoughts and feelings to leak out on his face and he shook himself to come back to the present.

"It is not a bad thought, Lady Royce. I understand that we are coming together under less than ideal circumstances and should we discuss these circumstances in manners befitting king and lady," he saw her lips twitch as if she fought a smile at his words, "then perhaps we can alleviate some of the pressures that have been put upon us."

"What is it that you wish to discuss? From your earlier indications, it seems that you know enough about me to pass judgment."

Robb bit back his initial retort and instead replied, "And the same could be said of you to me, milady." She suddenly began to chew on her lower lip and he wondered if this was an indication of nervousness or deep thought. Only time would tell. "You are already aware of certain aspects of my past dealings that would make any future bride nervous and uncomfortable."

She stopped chewing and frowned, "I am not a blushing virgin, your grace. I am well aware of the goings on between men and women outside of marriage, even if I do not partake in such things." She might have said the latter to reassure him, or she might have said the latter to further convict him. Again only time would tell.

Robb rubbed the back of his neck, "In any case, Lady Royce, I believe it would be pertinent if we were to discuss said dealings so that we can both understand where it is our marriage will go once the oath has been sworn."

She raised an eyebrow and he realized it was the first time he hadn't used the conditional word in reference to their marriage.

"Your grace, you need not justify your relationship with this other woman to me. I have been privy to many a discussion made by my men, or by my late husband's men, of how men and women can grow close to one another during dangerous times. As I understand it, she and yourself were given the opportunity to grow close and you did so, under trying circumstances. Your forged a bond with one another that outsiders may not understand and for which you were near willing to sacrifice an alliance for."

Robb again felt as if the woman had swept his legs out from underneath him. How was it that she knew so intimately the things of his heart? Was he transparent? Had he indicated in word or body any of his thoughts and feelings without realizing it? Was it her added years over himself that allowed her this great advantage of gauging a man's motives? This was the second time she'd done this and he felt that it would most definitely not be the last.

He shook off the dumbfounded stupor her words had momentarily left upon him and replied, "Then if you know this, you must also know that I will not just give her up." He watched her face as a mixture of emotions leaked out: frustration, fear, anger, resignation. "She will be under my protection and provision for the rest of her days."

Lady Royce leaned forward, "Will our marriage always be like this, your grace?"

"What do you mean?"

"Will our marriage consist of you making decisions and only telling me after the fact, without any prior warning or perhaps even discussion of the matter? Is that how marriages work in the North?" He felt her trying to look inside his soul this time, the intensity of her stare when she spoke again gave him that feeling. "Perhaps I am mistaken over the nature of marriages. I grew up with my father's version and knew intimately that that was not what I wanted or intended to accept, no matter the consequences of fighting a possible husband of like-mindedness to my father. My late husband was the antithesis to my father thankfully, and he encouraged openness between us, mutual respect and honor. When decisions were made in our household we had dual responsibility for it, as I was always consulted and could weigh in on the decision." She folded her hands together again. "I would know now, your grace, if I am to expect a marriage like that of my father or like that of my previous husband with you."

Robb opened his mouth to speak but she continued again, cutting him off, "If you had consulted me regarding Lady Talisa I would have encouraged you to do as you have done. You cannot cast her out, not now, at least not unless she has an advantageous marriage offer that would ensure her safety and wellbeing." She suddenly sighed and leaned back, giving him a look of sadness. "But you did not consult me, did not give me the chance, and now we may begin our marriage with the knowledge that you consult only yourself in regards to matters of the heart, whereas you have a counsel of men to consult with all other matters, leaving no room for your future wife."

"I did not consult you, Lady Royce, because in truth it did not concern you." He knew he sounded like a child, and her responding expression had him feeling doubly so. "The husband is the provider and protector of the wife, the wife the mother of his heirs. There need not be any consulting between husband and wife over matters of state, only matters of home."

Lady Royce looked wryly amused, "A former lover of my husband living in our house is not a matter of home with which to discuss? Most interesting logic, your grace, please enlighten me of more such tidbits of wisdom."

"You mock me, lady."

Lady Royce suddenly stood and glared down her nose at him, making him jerk with how quickly she'd changed from her earlier poise to this barely restrained tower of ire, "And you me. You come into my father's house thinking you can repair the damage you caused to an alliance by marrying one of his daughters, without thought or concern over which daughter and whether or not she wants to marry you. You mistreat those around you for the sake of a strategic bridge, and I speak not of just myself but also of your lover Lady Talisa. You strut around with the arrogance of a king by the maturity of a boy." He stood to his feet so quickly his chair fell to the floor and she further surprised him by letting out a joyless laugh. "See? You cannot control your temper when the truth, or even untruth, is thrown in your face. You say a husband is the protector and provider of his wife, the leader of the household; how can this wife expect that husband," she thrust her finger in his direction, "to do much of either when he cannot provide for the wife's wellbeing not just in body but also in soul, when he cannot protect her from his own temper and ire? When he cannot lead the household into harmony when he himself sows discord with his tantrums and unwillingness to listen."

She turned and he saw that she had every intention of leaving the room. He moved without thought and within seconds he had grabbed her upper arm, twirled her around, and placed her between himself and the end of the table, his hands still gripping her upper arms. Her reaction took him by surprise, but then again nothing about her should take him by surprise—as everything she said and did was contrary to what he expected. She rotated her lower arms upward, causing his grip on her uppers arms to loosen. She then slammed one of her heels on his foot and brought her other knee up and caught him in his stomach when he'd begun to lean over from the pain. Then she reached out and grabbed his upper arms and jerked him forward and around her until it was he pinned to the end of the table.

He was still sucking in much needed breath when she spoke, "I will not be manhandled, your grace. I ask that you use your words to stay me, and not your body." He saw her again rub at her wrists as she had in his tent and it made him wonder if something had happened before that would cause her to react in such a way.

"My lady, I apologize," he wheezed out, "I ask your forgiveness." He rubbed a hand over his stomach before standing to his full height again, only barely taller than the woman herself. "I feared that you would leave before we could settle this."

The look of fear and concern that she'd had during their mutual assault on one another abated to one of near amusement, "Settle what, your grace? The projection of a loveless, lifeless, joyless marriage where my value is a high as the ground upon which you walk?"

Robb frowned, "I realize now that my words were harsh and the intentions unclear. I ask your forgiveness for that as well." He noticed that they still stood close, his rear still pressed against the table, but he didn't find the proximity a problem, and from her fairly relaxed stance she didn't seem to be aware of it or have a problem with it either. In any other situation, with any other woman, the positions they were in would be considered intimate. Yet, in the here and now, with her, Robb felt none of the intimacy. "You are correct in that a husband should lead a household by example that he should look after not just the physical wellbeing of those under his protection but also the emotional and mental wellbeing as well. I have every intention of doing just that."

"But," she interrupted and he paused when he saw a slight smile tug at her lips, "I sense a 'but' coming from you."

He found himself smiling a similar smile at her, "I cannot guarantee that I will always have the time to take into consideration your view on matters of state. I cannot guarantee that I will always have your feelings at the forefront of my mind when I make a decision. The decisions I make must be for the best of the realm, and not just the household. Surely you understand the sacrifices we will both have to make as King and Queen of the North?"

"I do understand, your grace." She stepped back then, her hands coming together in front of her body. "I will endeavor to conduct myself in a manner befitting a queen."

"Robb." She looked up. "I believe it is customary between future spouses to address each other by name." He rubbed his stomach again. "Especially when one spouse has trounced the other."

She smiled and Robb was taken aback for a moment at the fullness of her smile and the added level of grace and beauty it gave her. "Well Robb, I promise to contain my displeasure with you to behind closed doors."

"Very well, Sascha." Robb offered her his arm. "I know this does not erase the pain I've caused or the insult I've given to your family, but I do hope that we may begin this marriage with true understanding of one another."

She studied his face for a moment before she accepted his arm and said with a hint of sadness, "That is a good intention, milord, and hopefully not impossible."


	3. How To Guide for a Wedding and Night

_If you have a particular instance you'd like to see both perspectives of then please feel free to tell me and I'd be happy to write it—taking requests if you will. I am writing this scene by scene from different perspectives—if you hadn't caught on to that by now then…well moving on. I own nothing but Sascha and the idea for this story. Thank you!_

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How-to Guide for a Wedding and Night: Robb

Robb had very nearly given into Greatjon's offhanded advice prior to the ceremony, to get a bit tipsy to help ease his nerves. If he had been going through this as Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell, that would be one thing, but he was Robb Stark, King of the North, the Young Wolf. No matter how much he'd wanted to take the bite out of his nerves with a few shots of something strong, he'd refrained. It had been easy to stick to this royal standard whilst he was alone but once he'd been led to the sept and his bride-to-be was led down the aisle towards him, he'd wished that he'd at least taken a sip.

He'd not been able to see her face as her father had led her down the aisle but from what he could see of her hands and her steps, there had been no faltering in her movements. He wondered if she had greater courage than he in this matter—as she'd already gone through such a ceremony before, and to a man not of her choosing. He supposed he should try to find some comfort in knowing that at least one of them knew relatively what they were doing—though based on the earlier argument during their "negotiation," it appeared that they had different understandings of what roles the husband/wife held within marriage. But at least he wasn't marrying someone who would expect something of him which he couldn't and had no inclination to give—at least not any time soon: his heart and devotion.

Robb knew that his mother and father had been joined together under less than ideal circumstances and that it'd taken time and patience for them to grow to the level of admiration, respect, and love that they'd had for one another in the last years of their marriage—prior to his death. And Robb earnestly hoped that within time, he could hold his own wife in high esteem and affection as she would after all be the one to share his bed and his life from now until death. Perhaps in time…Robb had shaken himself to keep Talisa's image from his mind during the ceremony. He knew it would be an affront to Talisa and an insult to his future wife to think of her at such a time, and so he'd focused instead on the words of the officiator of the ceremony and on his wife-to-be.

Thankfully his hands had not shaken and his voice had not faltered as they'd said their vows in the Light of the Seven. The only mishap had been when he was to cloak her; because their heights were so similar, and it seemed they were of equal levels of nervousness after all—in spite of earlier appearances—when she'd tipped forward to give aid to his cloaking, whilst he'd moved forward to cloak her, they'd bumped foreheads rather forcibly, and audibly. The only members in the great hall who dared to let out a chuckle had been her brothers and younger sisters, but they'd quickly been silenced with a glare from Lord Frey. He'd seen her hand jerk as if she wanted to rub her forehead but she'd refrained and instead stood still while he'd finished cloaking her. When he'd made eye contact with her, he thought he saw a hint of amusement, but he didn't let his eyes linger to figure out if that was fact.

After they'd finished the near disastrous cloaking ceremony, they'd all adjourned to the great hall where the makings of a feast were already laid out. Almost at once Lord Frey made a lengthy speech about the delights of having a son-in-law who did not break oaths and who was a man of his word—and Robb was not deaf to the not so subtle innuendos to the contrary lacing the old man's words. He'd been required to make a separate speech, thanking his hosts, and officially introducing his mother and a few of his men—they'd arrived late the night before. There'd been clapping, some feigned and some already drunken, and then they all had set to feasting.

Again Robb refrained from over-indulging in the wine and ale that was served; however tempting the numb it'd bring was to him, he did not want to be so besotted that he couldn't walk straight once the festivities were over. He also feared what he might say or do if he did allow himself to become mindless with drink while his nerves were so high and the memory of Talisa so bitter. The knowledge that she was encamped with the rest of his forces outside these very walls only made the food he ate taste of ash and the smiles he forced feel like he was put upon the rack. They were to be separated now, even if they stood side by side, his duty to his new wife standing between them.

Lowering his still half-full cup back to the table, Robb watched the dancers moving on the now-cleared-of-tables-and-feasters-floor in the middle of the hall. His wife sat to his right, his mother beside her, and his father-in-law to his left. His father-in-law had been deep into the cups and was near snoring by his side, Walder Frey's young wife pitifully staring at the goings on from his opposite side. Robb couldn't help but see a hunted deer whenever he looked upon the young Lady Frey. How trapped she must feel, how pathetic she must see her future to be.

He could empathize with the sense of entrapment. His oath had bound him to this arrow of a moment, a moment that rendered to his heart a wound he wondered if he'd ever recover from. He was not so aloof, however, to think that he was the only one suffering at this time. The feast had lasted near two hours now and while neither he nor his wife had neglected their duties in thanking well-wishers or responding to the numerous toasts made in their honor, neither he nor his wife had spoken directly to each other. Aside from the vows they'd exchanged, Robb had to yet to say anything to her and she to him. They'd yet to even really look at one another since their nuptials.

Robb did not know if he should make an attempt to breach the gulf that lay between them; did not know if that would help or hinder, and so he remained silent. With time, he hoped, they would learn how to meet each other halfway, come to an understanding, and perhaps even grow to be amiable towards each other. However, at this moment in time, Robb felt that his wife was as inclined towards him as he was towards her, which was next to nothing aside from duty.

"Your grace." Robb near started when the woman in question suddenly spoke up by his side. He looked towards her but found that her eyes were still on the dancers. "Would it not be negligent of us to remain seated at our own wedding feast whilst our guests continue to dance in hopes of enticing us to join them?"

Robb looked back to the dancers in confusion. Why would he want to dance when he felt like doing nothing more than to give into the childish impulse of throwing himself into bed and sleeping away this whole ordeal? When he glanced back towards his wife he looked past her and made eye contact with his mother, who was moving her eyes between his face and the dancers, as if in a silent plea for him to do something. It was then that he remembered the custom of the Twins: prior to the end of the feast, the bride and groom shared a dance.

"You're right." He pushed away from the table and stood, extending his hand towards her. "We have been remiss in our duties."

She finally looked away from the dancers and made eye contact with him. He watched as she eyed his hand as if it was some weapon. Perhaps he should have attempted to breach the gulf after all, since she seemed to have to shake herself into action—as he'd had to earlier. Her hand was cold as ice when she finally placed it in his and he felt himself shiver in response as they made their way towards the dance floor, amidst various cheers and toasts from the still sober enough to do so guests.

From her downcast eyes combined with her rim-rod straight back, he was reminded once more that she'd dreaded this marriage near as much as he, and that she was as much a victim of his oath as he was. He could not bring himself to hate her, even if she was the one who was inadvertently keeping him from Talisa. If anything, the knowledge that she was also disinclined towards the marriage made his heart soften towards her, as if he had a comrade in arms against a common foe. Perhaps, again in time, he could share this fact with her in hopes of earning her friendship and one of her half smiles of amusement he'd seen her flash on occasion—usually to others and not himself, or in response to something he'd said that was ridiculous in her opinion no doubt.

The band struck a lively yet regal tune once they were standing in the middle of the dancers. Where there had before been improvisation in movements, the other couples now situated themselves into proper formations to follow through with the courtly dance that was to come. Robb remembered this dance well, it was Sansa's favorite, though he couldn't remember if it was the hand holding that she'd liked the most or if it was the moment when the male partner had to put his hands on the female's waist and hoist her upwards for a turn. Arya had always squealed when he'd picked her up and twirled her, and then they'd end up in a tussle and the dance would never be completed. The thought of his sisters was both heart-warming and sobering; it reminded him of the greater reasons for his sacrifice—he must win the war and regain his sisters' freedom. From the somber look on his partner's face he knew there would be no laughter with this dance for her either.

"How have the festivities been, your grace?" His wife spoke after the first few weaves and turns amongst the other couples had been completed and they were facing each other once more, their hands clasped as they twirled together.

Robb couldn't stop the cynical smirk from reaching his face, "Now, do you really wish to speak to me about the festivities?" He reached down and placed his hands on her waist in order to lift her up for the next move, only momentarily taken aback when instead of softness he felt the firmness of muscle beneath her dress. Perhaps the armor she'd worn to meet him days before had not just been for show; perhaps she truly did have fighting capabilities. He spoke again once he placed her back on her feet. "Or is there something else you wish to discuss with me?"

She moved away for a moment, shifting between another couple as the dance required, before returning and taking up his hands again. "I am merely attempting to make polite conversation your grace. It would not do for us to be seen eating and dancing in resigned silence on our wedding day."

Robb smirked again. While this was true, he could not help but think that there was some sort of ulterior motive for her "polite conversation" maneuver. He waited until it came time for him to hoist her up again before he replied.

"I would ask that there be no 'games' between us." He placed his hands on her waist but hesitated in lifting her until she raised her eyes from where they'd been focused on his chest to meet his own. "Neither one of us wanted this union but that does not mean we should worsen the situation by acting coy with one another." He lifted her then and spun as he should before returning her to the ground and shifting away between another couple.

When he returned she was ready with a reply of her own, "I will abide by these conditions so long as you do as well." Her gaze was as direct as her words and Robb felt his stomach tighten as if in response to a blow.

"I would not suggest it only to ignore it myself." He felt a bit insulted that she would think he would do something of the kind; and yet, his mind painfully reminded him, he'd very nearly negated on his word before, and towards her family, so she had every reason to doubt the quality of his word. From her facial expression, it seemed that she too was aware of this, though to her credit she did not verbally seek to remind him.

The music began to draw to a close and it was then that he saw a look upon his wife's face that he'd not seen before in the brief time he'd known her. It was akin to panic, if not fear, and he immediately looked around for any sign of threat—to see a woman who'd thus far proven quite competent mentally and, from the looks of it, could be equally capable physically to fend for herself look like that had him tensing as well. He saw no sign of a threat however and so when they drew together for the last strains of the music he questioned her.

"What is it that has you so afraid?" He'd had to lean forward to whisper his question in her ear. When he looked down he could see the pulse in her neck quicken but again he knew it was not due to his proximity.

Her eyes were wide and she looked shocked by his question, her head turning until the tips of their noses brushed. He leaned his head back only slightly when she finally managed to whisper to him, "Please don't allow the bedding ceremony."

Robb drew back from her whisper as if she'd struck him, the reminder of what was intended to come like an assault on his mind. He clenched his teeth together and gave a curt nod to her before he led her back towards their seats. They'd barely made it back before Lord Frey drunkenly began to stand, no doubt to demand the aforementioned unwanted ceremony. Robb felt his wife's hand tighten on his arm where he'd earlier placed it and again he was surprised at how unnerved she seemed by the idea of the bedding ceremony. He too held no great love for the old tradition, and had not relished the thought of sharing it with her and not Talisa. But he wasn't about to knock his knees together over it. Surely she'd had to go through it with her previous husband—perhaps that was the reason for her fear? Had the experience been so traumatizing that she now acted like a cornered animal in the face of a predator?

Robb raised his hand for silence before Lord Frey had even managed to sit up straight, let alone stand. The room quickly quieted for him to speak.

"To my new family and friends, I thank you for your hospitality and for the jovial feast which we could share on such a joyous occasion as this." There was some clapping and even a few whistles and so Robb held up his hand again for silence. "As it has been a long day, my wife and I will now retire; please do not end your festivities on our account, there be no need for an escort." The room fell silent, either in shock at his curt response or in the break of tradition; though he had not given an order, the room reacted to his words as if he had.

Before anyone could dare to argue, Robb turned and gestured for his wife to precede him out the door towards the stairs. She all but ran in front of him, and he had to lengthen his stride to keep up with her. She truly was frightened and it was strange to see her act thusly, given she'd stood up to him almost from the moment they'd met. Once he caught up to her, they walked down the near dark corridor in silence. Aside from the echoing of their footsteps and the distant sounds of revelry starting up again, there was nothing else.

"Thank you, your grace." The assured tone of voice he'd quickly grown accustomed to hearing from her had returned, now that they'd avoided the ceremony.

He paused at the foot of the stairs that would lead to their chamber and turned towards her, "Now that we are wed perhaps it is time we call each other by name. The formalities of titles grow exhausting after a while."

In the low light he saw her lips quirk upwards in a half-smile, "I agree your, er, Robb."

"Well then," Robb smiled before glancing upwards towards the general direction of where their marriage bed would lay, "I must go check on Grey Wind. I trust that you can find your way on your own?" He mentally cringed; this was her old home, of course she could find her way.

If she found his question odd she did not show it; instead her responding expression was a mixture of what he could only guess to be relief and resignation. She gave him silent nod though, before turning and heading up the stairs. It was true that he needed to check on Grey Wind, who very much did not like being cooped up in the cage Lord Frey had politely insisted he keep him in, but it was also true that he wanted to give both his wife and himself some time before the inevitable occurred.

His wife Sascha. He supposed he should start to think of her by her name if he was to call her by it as well. While he had earlier hoped to eventually approach her with esteem and affection, he found himself fighting the desire to mount his horse and ride away with Grey Wind and Talisa. He could no longer give in to such selfish desires. He now had to think for his family, his kingdom, and his wife—as unwanted as she was.

Grey Wind offered no advice when he found him kenneled near the front gates. The dire wolf instead seemed to want to complain to Robb about his situation as much as Robb wanted to complain of his own. The creature was restless and nearly knocked Robb over a time or two in his pacing. After Robb ensured that he had food and water, and had scratched behind his ears for a time, Grey Wind settled down as if resigned to his fate. They had that in common it appeared. Robb lingered for longer than was necessary and eventually Grey Wind grew impatient with him—if he wasn't there to set him free than why should he be there—and had wandered to the far end of the kennel and lay down with his back to him. Robb snorted. He, no doubt, would receive such treatment elsewhere before the night was over.

On his way back towards the keep, Robb glanced through the open gates and saw the encampment of his men in the fields outside. He paused in his steps and allowed a fresh wave of regret to wash over him. He'd done this to himself and he'd done this to Talisa. He was not ignorant of the fault that lay at his feet for his current pain—and for the pain that Talisa was likely going through as well. If he had not been so impulsive, if he had taken better precautions, if…if…if…then he would still be married but not with this weight of guilt hanging around his neck. He would be able to enter his marriage chambers with confidence instead of with foreboding, as he did some time later once he mustered up the courage to face his new wife.

At first he did not see her in the chamber. The bed was still made and there was no evidence of her ever having touched it. Robb closed the door behind him and moved further into the room. A great fire burned from the hearth to his right and over in the far left corner he spied another source of light, though much softer, with the large bed and its draperies between him and whatever it was. He moved towards the light and looked around the corner of the bed to see that his wife sat at a desk in the corner, two candles burning on either side of her. Her hair was no longer pulled up into a formal style as it had been for the wedding but not hung to one side in a loose plait. Additionally, he noticed that she'd changed out of her formal gown into a simple sleep dress, though she'd pulled a shawl around her shoulders to keep out the evening chill. She looked unaware of the world, and of him, and a far cry from a woman whose wedding night this was.

She was working furiously on something, though from his position he could not quite see what it was. As he came closer, he saw that she was drawing on parchment. Even from this distance he could tell that it was no idle sketch, and from the layers of parchment paper beneath the one she was currently working with, it appeared that she had many other drawings of a similar nature. Spread on the desk around the parchment were tools he'd seen maester's use when teaching mathematics or designing buildings. He'd never seen a woman use them before and it appeared that not only did his wife use them, but that she knew how to use them accurately.

It was only once he was directly behind her, with her still working without paying him any heed, that he realized that she was drawing the schematics of some sort of oval device. There appeared to be calculations and computations on the edges of the parchment and angles drawn this way and that across the device itself, as if to signify the direction the device would travel. It was most odd but the design was basic enough for him to understand that somehow the device would spin in a circle as a form of movement, but how it was propelled forward or backward he could still not discern. Before he could stop himself, he reached over her shoulder and pointed to an area of the device that had him puzzled.

"What is this area for?"

Her hands stilled and she leaned back in her chair. He looked away from the drawing just long enough to make eye contact with her. From the placid nature of her expression she didn't seem disturbed by his presence, or startled for that matter. Perhaps she had heard him enter the room but had chosen to ignore him. His eyes traveled further from her face, however, and he quickly averted his eyes when he took note of the fact that standing as he was he could see down a gap in her night dress. This offered a brief reminder of what they were supposed to be engaged in that this time and it had him shifting as if to move away. She drew his gaze back to the drawing when she pointed to the area he had earlier indicated, "That is the porthole where a light cannon may be placed for firing from inside the protective covering." Her tone of voice was matter-of-fact and he detected no hints of timidity; it seemed that she felt more comfortable talking of these drawings than she did talking of their marriage.

"What is a 'light cannon'?" Robb frowned, understanding that whatever it was she was talking about was a weapon but having never heard of it before didn't quite know what to picture in his mind. He leaned closer to study the picture more carefully. Half of him was aware of how close he was to her, how she had to lean back to her out of his way, how he could feel the warmth of her body close to his neck and face, but the other half of him didn't seem to care, he was too interested in what he was looking at. She had given great detail to this drawing and it was more fascinating to study as he'd never seen the likes of it before. Truly original.

Sascha suddenly moved the top parchment away, causing him to straighten up and shift away, and shuffled through the underlying ones until she pulled out another one. This one had various designs of one simple object. The recurring image was of a long, thin circular barrel sitting atop a platform attached to wheels, almost like modified cart. It looked easy enough to move and from the notations he saw scribbled here and there he noted that the barrel was to be made of metal. She handed it to him, quickly drawing her hand away when it accidentally brushed his as she did so. It seemed that though she could speak so authoritatively about her work she was still aware of him as her new husband; just as aware as he was of her as his new wife.

"This is a light cannon. Only one has been made; the late King Renly commissioned it and to see a demonstration; if he liked what he saw then he would've commissioned more." She glanced up at him briefly before she sighed and shook her head. "He was killed shortly after the demonstration and in the chaos that occurred after that I'm not sure what happened to the cannon that was made." She shrugged and took the parchment from him long enough to flip it over and pointed out the mechanics of the interior of the cannon. "By lighting the fuse here, the fire will travel through the vent inside the chamber to ignite the blackpowder here, which will force the cannonball through the bore and will project it out here in whichever direction the user wants to attack."

Robb brought the parchment closer to read through the process she'd indicated. "What is blackpowder?" He'd heard of wildfire before, but never blackpowder; perhaps it too was of her design as the rest seemed to be.

"It is a combination of three different elements that, on their own, cause no harm but when mixed together can create explosive and destructive power. Once the elements are mixed together and further mixed with a stabilizing and malleable substance, it can be packed into any shape and into near anything desired before being ignited. I've put this to the test with hand-held weapons and with projectile weapons; both seem to be of equal effectiveness depending upon the accuracy of the user. I have the recipe locked away," Sascha gestured over her shoulder and he followed the gesture to see a medium sized chest lying at the foot of the bed, "but I haven't allowed many beyond my own men who assist me in the demonstrations to see it. It is what makes the light cannon possible and perhaps could be what makes this weaponized cart possible as well." She pulled out the parchment she'd been working on when he first came in and pointed to it with a frown on her face. It appeared that for a moment she'd been drawn back into her own work and his presence faded from her awareness.

He stood straight again and looked down at her as if he'd just met her, "You designed all these things?"

When she finally looked back to him he saw resignation, near fatigue, in her gaze. "Yes." Her tone of voice indicated to him that she had by now grown used to reactions such as his: incredulity. "That bridge you married me for," she jerked her head to the side as if to point to it with her chin and not her hands, "I modified that as well to allow it to move faster and to more efficiently moderate the water flow for our irrigation system to water our fields."

Robb frowned at the implications her words held and broke eye contact in order to look at her drawings again. While the drawings, and the fact that his wife appeared to be a very talented inventor, had momentarily distracted him, it appeared that they had circled back to the harsh reality of their current state. The treaty between her father and himself was all that had brought them together and it was all he had seen as worthwhile from her—or at least he could only assume that was how she viewed it, and if he was honest, there was some truth in that assumption.

"How many other such devices have you designed and tested?" he decided to overlook her implications and instead bring them back to the neutral territory of her designs.

This seemed to put her at ease and the confident tone of voice reappeared as she stood up and moved towards the chest she'd earlier indicated. "I've made models of all of them, though when I came back here I had to destroy most of them, and only a few have been made to full-scale, but all my designs are here." Without any further prompting she pulled out dozens of parchments, including the recipe for the powder she'd spoken of.

Some of the inventions were so simple it made him want to smack himself for not having thought of them himself and others were of such complexity that he wondered if they could ever be successfully implemented into everyday life at this time. The inventions were not all of military design, some could be applicable for farmers, others for bakers, and at least one looked as if it could assist a maester when he sought to heal the wounded. Each parchment held impeccable work and Robb didn't begrudge the woman sitting beside him a healthy new dose of respect. Though they did not see eye-to-eye on near anything as of yet in their relationship, she was truly a marvel and a far cry from what he'd expected himself to marry out of the Frey household.

It was only when her speech pattern slowed and her movements did as well that Robb became aware of the passing of time. They had been discussing these inventions for at least a few hours, if the change in the lighting outside the window covering was any indication, and he found himself surprised at how easy it had been to pass the time thusly. Sascha had thoroughly and animatedly explained the mechanisms of the devices to him and he'd questioned her further on where she'd find the materials or how she planned on using them. There had been no awkwardness between them as they'd sat on the bed, side by side, the parchments spread beside and behind them. He'd chuckled at his wife when she'd taken to crawling around on the bed to retrieve this parchment or that, seemingly unaware of how childlike her movements appeared. They'd been able to speak together as near equals without any sort of barrier or hindrance and he'd felt a sort of camaraderie develop between them during their discourse—and he hoped for the sake of their marriage that it hadn't been a one-sided feeling.

"Oh," Robb lowered the parchment he'd been holding, "it seems time has slipped away from us." He indicated the window and waited until Sascha's eyes traveled to the window and back again before he spoke once more. "We should retire."

It seemed that the unavoidable could no longer be avoided. They had to retire. Robb couldn't tell if her sluggish movements now were out of fatigue or a further way of stalling the inevitable. He helped her gather together the parchments and let her lock them away on her own while he moved to the far side of the room to divest himself of cloak, boots, and outer clothes. He didn't think he had it in him to go through with the full expectations of a wedding night, not at this time, not after their first tentative steps at becoming at least a little friendly towards each other—and not so soon after Talisa.

Robb stopped short on his way back towards the bed. It surprised him to now realize that the entirety of the time he'd been speaking with Sascha about her inventions he'd not once thought of Talisa or bemoaned her absence by his side. He'd been so caught up in Sascha's enthusiastic explanations, and by the practical implications these inventions held for his cause if they could be made and used by his forces, that he hadn't stopped to think about what else Sascha was to him, beyond the possible supplier of an entirely new form of fighting.

His thoughts now straying to Talisa, and idly wondering how she was wherever she was outside, Robb moved forward until he reached the side of the bed. He found Sascha already within it, curled on her side, her back towards him, breathing deeply as if already asleep. After the initial surprise wore off Robb smiled, finding the situation for once relatively amusing. They'd just spent the majority of their wedding night discussing weapons and now they were to sleep together as husband as wife, and truly sleep. Not at all what had been expected of them for this evening but as Robb settled into bed, well away from his wife's softly snoring form, he found himself satisfied with how it had turned out.

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How-to Guide for a Wedding and Night: Sascha

Her sisters had been absolutely no help leading up to the wedding. While the majority of the young ones had waxed eloquent about the delights of marrying a king, and such a handsome one at that, a few of the older ones had expressed barely restrained loathing that she was to marry AGAIN while they remained unmarried and with few prospects. Sascha had been surprised to leave her chambers without a few scratches on her skin or tears in her dress as the comments had grown increasingly less subtle as the time for the ceremony had drawn near.

Walda had been the quietest, however, and Sascha had paused long enough in her own misery to comfort the second eldest of her sisters. Roose Bolton was not known to be a nice man, or an affectionate one. So while Sascha's match was as filled with love as Walda's future match, at least Sascha was matched to a man of honor and who was known to be good and affectionate with his family.

She'd wanted some time to herself prior to the wedding but there'd been no opportunity. She'd been whisked from her chambers crammed full of sisters to an equally crowded room full of her brothers all there to wish her well, or to remind her to remember them once she was situated as queen. From there the whole lot of them had led a rather large procession to the sept where the king's men and mother had already gathered.

Sascha had not had the opportunity to speak to the woman alone and had had little indication from the woman herself how she felt about these turn of events. The last she'd seen of Lady Stark had been in the king's war tent and now they stood facing each other in the sept, separated by the aisle she was to walk down with her father. How strange it must be for her, to watch her eldest son marry a widow, all in hopes of securing a bridge and a treaty in order to win a war. Far from the hopes she'd most likely pinned on the man whilst he'd been a boy no doubt.

She'd barely been able to see clearly through the veil over her face as her father had led her down the aisle. She'd been glad of the nuisance of the veil, and the itch it had caused against her skin; it had been so distracting to her that she had not the ability to think overly long about who it was she was walking to or what it was she was about to do. If she had had the freedom of senses to think about it then she would've most likely stumbled on her own feet in her efforts to run from the room.

Sascha knew this desire was foolish and childish—and was most likely harbored by her husband-to-be, a man she'd already accused of being both childish and foolish. If she could not only survive one marriage but also grow to appreciate the man to whom she'd been married, and had also been able to glean from the marriage many positives despite the apparent negatives, then she could do so again. She would not buckle to her impulses to hide away and would instead present herself to her future husband as a capable woman, hopefully worthy to be called Queen of the North. Perhaps in time they would be able to overlook the unfortunate circumstances surrounding their union and instead harbor affection for each other.

This hope only grew when they'd accidentally hit their foreheads together during the cloaking ceremony. Despite the pain, and the urge to rub it away, Sascha had remained still and had allowed the king to finish cloaking her. While he did so she remembered her septa once telling her that all good relationships start with a bump on the head, or relationships could only grow to be good ones after a bump on the head. To have this happen during their wedding ceremony only served as fodder to her hope that eventually they could grow to esteem one another highly.

When he'd made eye contact with her though, she felt the fire of hope dwindle. He'd almost immediately broken the contact and instead turned to face the rest of the chamber. Sascha had swallowed her disappointment, an occurrence she felt she should get used to immediately, and had followed her husband's leading into the great hall where the makings of a feast were already laid out. She did her duty, with Robb by her side, of thanking the well-wishers for their support. When Roose Bolton had had his turn, Sascha had to use every ounce of her will power to keep from retracting her hand from his grasp when he'd taken it and bent over it as was befitting his station. Soon this man would be her kin, as horrid a thought as that was. Could she trust him to look after Walda? Again Sascha couldn't help but wonder if Robb was privy to the new alliance or if he was as unaware as she'd once been. Now was not the time to discuss such matters, however, and so Sascha filed away the thought for later.

As the feast wore on, and both she and her husband dutifully thanked well-wishers, she noticed that he did not partake of near as much ale and wine as she'd expected him to. Perhaps he did not want to risk inebriation on their wedding night—and if that were true then she was immensely grateful for his thoughtfulness. But then, her mind chided her, it was not for her sake that he refrained. Most likely he did not want his wine-addled thoughts to dwell overly long on the woman he'd rather be by his side at this time. Sascha had downed the contents of her glass in one gulp at that reminder, not even wincing at the pain it caused in her throat as it burned its way down to her stomach.

As her husband engaged in conversation with one of his bannermen, she turned towards her husband's mother and gave her a small smile, "I hope that the journey here was not overly taxing."

Lady Stark appeared to be as good an actress as she was trying to be and showed not one ounce of pity or scorn when she turned her attention towards her and away from the dancers that had begun to clear the middle of the room of tables. "The countryside here reminds me of my youth and I found the journey most invigorating in truth, so many fond memories keeping me company." The woman's smile grew shuttered then, slightly less warm, and Sascha felt the muscles in her neck tighten in response. "It may be difficult for you to move from such lush beauty to the wilds of the north. While I now find my home in the north to be of great magnificence, I confess that the first months at Winterfell were not easy for me. At first I pinned for home but then my husband made every effort to see me settled and in time I grew as fond of Winterfell as I did of my husband."

The implication that Sascha and her own husband may or may not end up like Lord and Lady Stark had fallen like ice between them and both women paused long enough to take a sip of the contents of their glasses—Sascha's having been refilled. When Lady Stark spoke again it was her inquiring after her sisters and their futures and they passed the time trading stories about siblings and the difficulties thereof.

When one of the king's other bannermen required Lady Stark's attention Sascha was once more left to her own devices. The feast had lasted near two hours now and while neither she nor her husband had neglected their duties in thanking well-wishers or responding to the numerous toasts made in their honor, neither she nor her husband had spoken directly to each other. Sascha chewed on her lower lip as she thought. He was the one suffering from a broken heart. Sascha had only really grown to have an affectionate form of love for her husband just prior to his death and had never known the sort of passion Robb must've felt towards Talisa if he'd been so close to breaking his oath. He was the only who would now and forever be separated from the one he would've chosen to marry had he the chance. As for herself, Sascha had not been inclined towards remarriage prior to this arrangement and felt not the disappointment he must now feel. It was no wonder that he sat brooding in silence now, most likely unaware of how to speak to her while he felt such disinclination towards her at the same time. However, the hope she'd felt earlier remained and it was that hope that had her breaking the silence first.

"Your grace." She felt more than saw him stiffen as if in surprise when she spoke. She saw out of the corner of her eyes that he turned towards her but she kept her eyes on the dancers. "Would it not be negligent of us to remain seated at our own wedding feast whilst our guests continue to dance in hopes of enticing us to join them?"

He was silent for some time and from this silence Sascha surmised that he'd either forgotten about the tradition held at the Twins or else he was mustering up the energy to feign interest in maintaining tradition in the line of duty. Eventually she felt him shift his body weight and push away from the table.

"You're right." He spoke once he was on his feet, extending his hand downwards towards her. "We have been remiss in our duties."

She finally looked away from the dancers and made eye contact with him. His face was devoid of any indication of pain, but also of delight, and because of this she found herself looking at his hand—wondering if he'd rather hit her with it than hold her. She shook herself to get such morbid thoughts out of focus and placed her hand in his. No doubt he felt how cold it was—and indeed she thought she felt a responding shiver from him by her side—but she hadn't been able to warm her hands since that morning. It was a side effect of her nerves, as this only ever happened whenever she felt she couldn't control something. She hoped that this wouldn't be common between them, her hands cold as death and he shivering at having to touch her.

The song the band chose to play next had Sascha forcing a polite smile on her face, in spite of the memory that this was the last dance she'd shared with her husband prior to his death—how fitting that it would be the first she shared with her husband now. From the somber, distant look on her husband's face, it appeared that his memories were less than pleasant as well. In an effort to distract themselves from anything other than the present, Sascha again broke the silence between them.

"How have the festivities been, your grace?" She spoke after the first few weaves and turns amongst the other couples had been completed and they were facing each other once more, their hands clasped as they twirled together.

She watched as after a moment of surprise a cynical smirk spread across his face, "Now, do you really wish to speak to me about the festivities?" He reached down and placed his hands on her waist in order to lift her up for the next move. Thanks in part to her father, she'd always found touch difficult to handle unless she controlled it and this move was no different. She felt herself tense in response to his touch and it seemed that for a moment he hesitated in following through with the motion the dance required. However, duty an ever presence companion, Sascha forcibly relaxed in his hands and he lifted her and spun as he was supposed to. He spoke again once he placed her back on her feet. "Or is there something else you wish to discuss with me?"

She moved away for a moment, shifting between another couple as the dance required, before returning and taking up his hands again. "I am merely attempting to make polite conversation your grace. It would not do for us to be seen eating and dancing in resigned silence on our wedding day."

He smirked again and waited until it came time for him to hoist her up again before he replied. "I would ask that there be no 'games' between us." He placed his hands on her waist but hesitated in lifting her. The heat from his hands was not unpleasant but the knowledge of who it was holding her and why he was holding her was. She quickly moved her gaze to his, hoping it would get him to let go faster. "Neither one of us wanted this union but that does not mean we should worsen the situation by acting coy with one another." He lifted her then and spun as he should before returning her to the ground and shifting away between another couple.

When he returned she was ready with a reply on her own, "I will abide by these conditions so long as you do as well." Her gaze was as direct as her words and she hoped that he felt her sincerity.

"I would not suggest it only to ignore it myself." His voice was gruff, almost defensive, when he replied and because of that she was reminded that they were only having this conversation because of his indiscretions as well as because of her representation of a bridge and a treaty that he'd wanted. She hoped the disappointment didn't come through in her expression before she managed to break eye contact, but she feared it had.

The music began to draw to a close and it was then that she remembered another tradition upheld at the Twins: the bedding ceremony. Flashes of sensations welled up like hotspots across her body as memories of her youth battled against reason inside her head. Her body screamed at her to run away while her mind demanded that she stay by her husband's side. Robar had managed to overlook the bedding ceremony purely because their marriage had taken place upon Royce lands and that was not a common tradition for their people. No, it was the memories of vulnerability and pain caused by her father that had her tensing up in fear. She could not allow herself to be so exposed to him again, where he could see with satisfaction the places where she was scarred by his hands.

"What is it that has you so afraid? "His question was whispered near her ear and she realized, with equal amounts of horror and relief, that he'd seen her fear and was responding not in anger or mockery but with what seemed to be genuine concern.

Latching onto the hope that he was indeed concerned after her wellbeing she turned towards him, her nose bumping his as she did so, and whispered back, "Please don't allow the bedding ceremony."

He drew back suddenly, as if her words had struck a blow against him. She saw the muscles of his jaw tighten and he gave a curt nod to her before he led her back towards their seats. They'd barely made it back before the source of her panic, her father, drunkenly began to stand, no doubt to demand the ceremony. Sascha's hand tightened on her husband's arm, even though she kept telling her body to relax. She would have to trust him now, believe that he would abide by her imploration.

He raised his hand for silence before her father had even managed to sit up straight, let alone stand. The room quickly quieted for him to speak.

"To my new family and friends, I thank you for your hospitality and for the jovial feast which we could share on such a joyous occasion as this." There was some clapping and even a few whistles and so he held up his hand again for silence. "As it has been a long day, my wife and I will now retire; please do not end your festivities on our account, there will be no escort." The room fell silent, either in shock at his curt response or in the break of tradition; though he had not given an order, the room reacted to his words as if he had.

Before anyone could dare to argue, he turned and gestured for her to precede him out the door towards the stairs. All the energy she'd barely held in check, born out of panic, exploded in her body and Sascha all but ran in front of him. She didn't pause by the door to see if he followed, though she heard him come up beside her before she saw him. There would be no ceremony and she had him to thank for it. The hope she had earlier was now coupled with gratitude, and surely those two things would work together to make the rest of this evening bearable.

"Thank you, your grace." Now that the fear had abated, her body relaxed away from the desire to flee or fight.

He paused at the foot of the stairs that would lead to their chamber and turned towards her, "Now that we are wed perhaps it is time we call each other by name. The formalities of titles grow exhausting after a while."

He sounded exhausted, though from the formality sitting between them or the situation altogether she couldn't tell, and she fought a smile at the near child-like fatigue she saw in his expression accompanying his words. "I agree your, er, Robb."

"Well then," He offered her a half smile before glancing upwards in the general direction of where their marriage bed would lay. The smile fell quickly and he shifted on his feet, "I must go check on Grey Wind. I trust that you can find your way on your own?"

From the sudden way in which he broke eye contact and again shifted on his feet she gleaned that he was seeking a way to stall what it was they were both expected to follow through with this evening. She gave him silent nod, before turning and heading up the stairs. She was just as desirous of avoiding the marriage bed as he—though she didn't want to indicate that aloud to him by thanking him for his stalling; that would only make matters more awkward.

Upon first getting to their room Sascha quickly undressed and changed into her night clothes, not wanting to be caught half-way between the two by Robb's untimely arrival. When he still did not arrive, even after she'd packed away her clothes and pulled out the clothes she would wear the next day—the majority of her things were still in trunks as she'd not had the time to unpack everything before she'd rushed off to meet Robb, and her father had not hid his dislike of her return as well—she lit two candles and moved to the corner where her old desk still sat. She lovingly ran her fingers over the worn surface, lamenting the fact that she would have to part with it yet again. She'd created dozens of different inventions using this desk and sitting before it now felt like coming back to an old friend.

When Robb still had yet to return after she'd sat idle before her desk for what she felt to be quite some time, she moved to the medium sized chest at the foot of her bed and unlocked it, using the key she kept on a chain around her neck. She withdrew the parchment containing the sketches of her latest invention she'd been working on and placed it, and the related sketches, upon the desk. Within moments of sitting down in front of the parchment, pen in hand and tools spread out on the desk around it, she was lost. The earlier ponderings about the mobility of the weaponized cart came back and she quickly sketched out the basics of the exterior, using the measuring rod as a guide in regards to correcting her angles.

Any reservations or nervousness about the return her husband were lost, retreating in favor of a circular, covered weapon, capable of carrying five men, that if all worked out correctly would spin in a circle, guided by ballast shifting, with cannons facing outwards. She'd gotten the idea after watching one of her little sisters play with a simple toy while listening to one of her men complain about heavy losses against the Lannisters in the latest fight—granted that fight had handed over Jamie Lannister to Robb but they'd only barely won the fight.

Sascha began to chew on her lower lip, a bad habit she had yet to break since it seemed to help her think so well, as she worked. She vaguely thought she heard the door to the chamber open and close but didn't bother to look over her shoulder; she was in the middle of a computation involving just how much ballast she would need to shift from astern to ahead in order to offset the weight of the five men if the cart encountered an incline. It was only when a hand appeared from over her shoulder and a finger pointed to the porthole for the cannon that her earlier guess was proven correct. Robb had returned.

"What is this area for?" He sounded interested and confused at the same time.

She laid down the pen and leaned back in her chair in order to look at him, wondering if he was indeed curious of if he was biding his time before they would have to...she purposefully set aside that thought and instead continued to work on the computation in her head in spite of his interruption. He glanced down at her from where he'd been studying the parchment and she saw his eyes widen slightly when he took in the fact that she was already in her night clothes and his body stiffened as if he was about to move away. If he moved away then he would remember why it was he returned and they would have to follow through with the expectations of the wedding night. Sascha cleared her throat and pointed to the porthole that he'd indicated.

"That is the porthole where a light cannon may be placed for firing from inside the protective covering." As long as she focused on explaining the mechanics of her inventions she need not worry about sounding as nervous as she felt. Her late husband had always teased her about sounding too assured and confident when it came to explaining her inventions, telling her it was if another woman inhabited her body for a spell just to speak out enthusiastically about the oddities she created.

"What is a 'light cannon'?" Robb drew her attention back to the present and she watched him frown as if in confusion. Before she explain he suddenly leaned closer to study her drawing, his body so close she felt she could smell the direwolf upon his clothes and feel the chill of the night air still upon his body. A part of her that had been dormant ever since her husband's death began to awaken, stretching its arms into her senses and reminding her of how comforting it could be to lie in the arms of a man. The rest of her, thankfully the majority, reminded her that she was not the woman he wanted in his arms.

Sascha suddenly moved the top parchment away, glad when Robb stood upright in response, and shuffled through the underlying ones until she pulled out another one. It was the original design of the light cannon, along with some basic sketches of her later designs after initial testing. She handed the parchment to him, drawing her hand back quickly when it accidentally brushed against his.

"This is a light cannon. Only one has been made; the late King Renly commissioned it to be made and to see a demonstration; if he liked what he saw then he would've commissioned more." The memory of the thrill his approval had sent through her, the light of pride in her own husband's eyes as well, was near bitter in her mind now, sitting here with Robb as she was. "He was killed shortly after the demonstration and in the chaos that occurred after that I'm not sure what happened to the cannon that was made." Sascha dearly wished to know what had become of her invention—it was if she'd lost a child. After a moment of further lament, she shrugged and took the parchment from him long enough to flip it over and began to point out the mechanics of the interior. "By lighting the fuse here, the fire will travel through the vent inside the chamber to ignite the blackpowder here, which will force the cannonball through the bore and will project it out here in whichever direction the user wants to attack."

She watched as his lips moved into that concentrated frown again and she realized that just as she chewed on her lip when she thought it appeared that Robb frowned when he did—a good thing to take note of now since she had the feeling she would make him frown a lot in their marriage. "What is blackpowder?" He asked a few moments later.

Sascha wondered then, if she should be so open with her inventions and talents with him. Yes, he was her husband, and based on his earlier beliefs about marriage he had a right to all that was hers—and based off of her beliefs about marriage she had equal rights to all that was his. If she tried to keep these things from him he could fight her, though she doubted he would, but if she opened up to him now it could serve as a bridge over which they could both cross in order to meet in the middle of the chasm between them. It could be a road over which they could travel towards friendship—and that was truly all that she wanted from him at this time. She did not expect love, affection, or devotion. A kind word here and there, a mutual and genuine respect, and no more loathing of being in each other's presence, that was what she wanted. If by sharing this side of herself to him, even so early on in their marriage, could aid that process, then it was a risk worth taking—and in reality she had little to lose.

"It is a combination of three different elements that, on their own, cause no harm but when mixed together can create explosive and destructive power. Once the elements are mixed together and further mixed with a stabilizing and malleable substance, it can be packed into any shape and into near anything desired before being ignited. I've put this to the test with hand-held weapons and with projectile weapons; both seem to be of equal effectiveness depending upon the accuracy of the user. I have the recipe locked away," Sascha gestured over her shoulder to her chest at the foot of the bed, "but I haven't allowed many beyond my own men who assist me in the demonstrations to see it. It is what makes the light cannon possible and perhaps could be what makes this weaponized cart possible as well." She pulled out the parchment she'd been working on when he first came in and pointed to it with a frown on her face, the earlier unfinished computation coming back to haunt her.

He stood straight again and she heard the disbelief in his voice even before she looked up to see it on his face when he spoke again, "You designed all these things?"

Only her husband, out of all the men in her life, had not spoken to her in such a tone of voice when confronted with this side of her. He had been intrigued yes, charmed even, but had immediately set about trying to find ways in which she could perfect her skills and she'd fallen in love with him because of that—no judgment, only support and delight. Yes, in retrospect, Sascha realized that she had loved her husband, just not in the traditional sense.

"Yes." She made sure he understood from her own tone of voice that she found his disbelief insulting. As if to nail in that sentiment more strongly she quickly added, "That bridge you married me for," she jerked her head to the side, "I modified that as well to allow it to move faster and to more efficiently moderate the water flow for use in our fields." She watched the disbelief in his eyes change, his eyes hardening in what looked to be the beginnings of anger but then he broke eye contact before she could detect anything further. She wondered if he'd call her out on her audacious, and rude, response—and on their wedding night of all times!

But after a few moments of him busying himself with studying her drawings, the majority of them upside down or sideways, he spoke again and surprised her, "How many other such devices have you designed and tested?"

He hadn't gotten angry; he hadn't demanded she apologize. Instead, by his question, it appeared that he was as inclined towards creating a bridge between them as she was—in spite of her momentary bridge destroying comment. She gave him a half smile before she stood and moved towards the chest where she kept her other drawings. "I've made models of all of them, though when I came back here I had to destroy most of them, and only a few have been made to full-scale, but all my designs are here." Without any further prompting she pulled out dozens of parchments, including the recipe for the blackpowder—again figuring he was to be by her side for life now, he should be privy to that as well.

Soon they were both lost to time and place as she explained the various designs. He did not ask questions that seemed to only humor her or placate her but from his tone of voice and the content of the questions themselves, it appeared that he was genuinely intrigued by her inventions. They did not quickly flip through the designs, as if he was in a rush to move on to the next portion of the evening—and thank goodness for that—but instead mulled over each drawing for quite some time. He even pointed out some of the flaws she had not earlier seen on a few and she'd made him hold the parchment while she'd stood, grabbed her pen, and jotted down his ideas in an unmarked corner of said design he'd critiqued.

As much as she enjoyed this, it seemed that the enjoyment itself loosened the tension from her body and it was then that her body reminded her that she hadn't slept well for quite a number of days. Sascha thought she hid her fatigue well but it wasn't long after the initial wave of tiredness set in that Robb suggested they retire and ruminate over the rest of her designs some other time. He helped her gather together the parchments and let her lock them away on her own while he moved to the far side of the room to divest himself of cloak, boots, and outer clothes.

Sascha's mind wanted to alert her body to the possible onslaught that would soon set it upon Robb's return to the bed, but her body rebelled and instead when she pulled the blankets of the bed up to her chin her entire body relaxed and her breathing deepened as if in sleep almost immediately. She was still half awake when she felt Robb move into the bed as well, and again her mind tried to warn her body to prepare itself. But this time it was Robb himself who defied her mind and instead of reaching for her as her mind had told her he would, she felt him shift around as if he were trying to get comfortable while also not touching her—not a difficult feat considering how large the bed was.

Sascha fell asleep smiling. While they had not at all lived up to the expectations and traditions this night called for, she did not regret how they had spent it—especially not since they now seemed to have a truly positive starting point from which they could build their marriage.


	4. Plan of Attack

Plan of Attack: Robb

Robb felt a pleasant sensation, one akin to peace and contentment, in the early stirrings of wakefulness. Something warm enveloped him and he did not want to stir far from it. With each breath a keen awareness began to creep forward in his mind until with a mumbled grunt he jerked himself awake, away from the strange warmth that he'd been curled against in his sleep. Robb rubbed a hand over his face, his wrist feeling strangely warm, as if something had been wrapped around it seconds before. When he glanced to the side he found himself alone in the bed, although he was much closer to the side that Sascha had chosen to sleep on than he would've preferred. Perhaps he'd moved towards her in his sleep seeking warmth. He had, up until more recently, become accustomed to sleeping with Talisa, and it disturbed him to think that his body, acting without his consent, had recognized the body of his sleeping wife as no different as that of his former lover.

He opened his eyes and looked over to see the woman in question, his wife, standing beside the bed. She looked apprehensive, as if she'd been caught by his gaze. Robb couldn't fathom what it was that would make her feel thusly, unless the very fact that they were now seeing each other as man and wife, their first morn with such titles, was what made her look as she did. The startled expression on her face disappeared almost as quickly as her form had appeared and he watched as a forced smile touched the edges of her lips. She could not possibly know how much he already hated that smile; its very presence a ready reminder of the fact that they had not chosen this present situation.

"Good morning." Her voice sounded a little too bright, as if the polite greeting was as equally forced as her smile. He didn't have to look at the wavering expressions on her face for long, however, as she turned almost as soon as she gave him the greeting and began to gather together whatever it was she was to wear that day. "I hope you slept well."

Robb rolled his eyes and stretched his arms over his body, his legs lengthening in similar turn. "I slept well enough, thank you." He saw her near bolt behind the changing screen and smirked. Most likely she wanted to avoid looking at him in his undershirt as much as possible. She'd already been abed the night before when he'd changed into his undershirt, her back to him. The fact that she was still determined to maintain this barrier between them, literal and figurative, served as more of an irritant than an amusement.

He was just pulling on his trousers when he heard her ask, "When will we leave for Winterfell?"

Robb frowned as he quickly tied the lacings together and pulled his tunic tighter across his body, securing it with a belt. Why would she ask such a ridiculous question? Had she so quickly forgotten the war, his sisters, and his father? What was the purpose of such a question except to serve as a reminder of the fact that they could not yet return to Winterfell? "No one will be returning to Winterfell," he glared at the changing screen even though he knew she could not him do so "not until my sisters are returned and this war ended."

He finished readying himself for the day with a scowl upon his face. Her question was something he'd asked himself many times, though with the hopes that soon his family could be reunited and together they could return home. To have his new wife ask such a question only served to irk him, making him impatient to be away from her and the reminder that he could not have everything that he wanted. He closed the door without another word and headed towards the dining hall.

He knew that he was being fairly petty in his sudden irritation towards his wife. Maybe it was the reminder that his family wasn't altogether, maybe it was the reminder that the war was far from over, maybe it was the reminder that he would be taking her back to Winterfell with him and not Talisa. Whatever it was, Robb clenched and unclenched his fists to try to shake the feeling from his mind. He did not want his mother to see him coming from his marriage chamber in such a mood, and over something so simple. If he told his mother that he'd gotten irked over a simple question then she'd most likely look at him as she'd done time and time again when he was a lad exclaiming that Theon had made him do this or that. There were no excuses for a king, and he had better start reminding himself of that.

When he came into the dining hall he saw his mother already sitting at the great table with a few of Sascha's kin scattered to his mother's left. It seemed that the Frey household held no ceremony or strict time frame for the morning meal, a fact that did not surprise Robb in the slightest. He watched his mother's eyes move from his face to the closing door behind him. She frowned. Robb mentally prepared himself for her questioning as he took his seat to her right, leaving a space between them for Sascha when she arrived. He hoped that that would appease his mother a bit, and keep both mother and newfound wife occupied with one another so that he could be left to his own thoughts.

"Where is your lady-wife Robb?"

Robb nodded to the servant standing by the wall, waiting for his goblet to be filled before he answered, "She was still readying herself for the day when I left."

"Should you not have waited for her?" He could hear the disapproval in his mother's voice and tightened his hold on his cup a fraction in response. "You were married last night."

"A fact I will not readily forget, mother, believe me." He turned his gaze upon her and it looked as if she'd flinched at the discontented expression he didn't attempt to shield her from. "My wife will not readily forget that point either. To be plain, I think she'd prefer me to leave her as much alone as possible and I find that I am in favor of honoring those wishes for the time being."

His mother watched him carefully, weighing his words in her mind no doubt, before she looked back down to her food. He knew she disapproved immensely with his sentiments. She was most likely tempted to lecture him on how she'd married his father out of duty and had not had the emotional ties with him so early in the marriage either and yet they'd made the marriage work, and succeeded at it quite well with the number of children they'd had as well as the warmth they'd shared with one another. Robb was glad his mother didn't attempt to say such things to him though. He didn't want to tell her that such a comparison was faulty as this situation was entirely different and not only were there no emotional ties formed between himself and his wife but also his own emotional ties had been (yes impulsively) formed elsewhere. Such reminders would not sit well with either of them.

The door opened and his wife entered. She wore an actual gown this morning and not one of her strange half gown/half legging outfits. He couldn't fathom why she'd feel the need to do something like that, she didn't strike him as the sort to suddenly change just because her title had changed. In fact, aside from their sleeping arrangements, Robb had the distinct feeling that Sascha would be content to carry on with her life as if he didn't exist at all. He took a deep sip from his goblet, not wanting to dwell longer on such thoughts.

"Good morning." His mother spoke first when Sascha was close enough to hear. He didn't watch her as she walked up the steps and behind the table, taking her seat between him and his mother. He didn't need to watch her to know she was nearby. His dislike of the situation had made him hyper alert to her presence, a sort of twisted awareness that carried none of the attraction or desire that lovers might feel towards each other but still a strong awareness nonetheless. "My dear, whatever happened to your head?"

Robb did look over then and saw Sascha reach towards her forehead, her fingers brushing over an egg-sized lump. He hadn't noticed it in the brief interlude they'd shared that morning so he was just as intrigued as his mother as to its sudden presence. Had she done something after he'd left that morning? Or perhaps, Robb thought back to her strange expression when he'd first glimpse of her that morning, had it happened prior to his waking and that was why she'd looked so strangely at him? Robb frowned. What could she have possibly done to cause such a bump?

"Sometimes in the morning I can be a bit clumsy and I knocked my writing table over; I must have hit my head when I pulled it up too quickly. I barely felt a thing to be honest." Robb continued to frown. Her excuse sounded flimsy and from the way she'd confidently moved around her room the night before, explaining her war machines, he doubted that she was capable of knocking anything over in her workspace. She was too familiar with everything that much was obvious to him. She took a drink from the goblet a servant had filled in her lapsed silence and Robb continued to ponder what could have happened just prior to his waking as he was certain that was when she'd received the bump. "My mother always told me my thick skull would prevent me from too much damage." He looked over to her, surprised at her attempt at humor. She'd made a few comments here and there in their short relationship that could have been equal attempts at humor but this was the first blatant attempt and Robb found it strangely endearing. He hid his smile by taking another sip from his drink.

"I am glad that you are not hurt then. My own daughter, Arya, often got into scrapes growing up, always coming to meals with new bruises or bumps."

Robb chuckled at the memory, "And always with an elaborate excuse for why it was there and why it wasn't her fault."

He glanced over towards his mother, his eyes then moving to rest on Sascha's face. There was a brief moment that transpired then, one of warmth—akin to the warmth he'd felt in the pre-waking moments of his mind—that was shared between them. It too took Robb by surprise and he turned his attention back to his food, unsure of what he was to say now. He was spared pondering that much longer, however, as the door to the great hall was thrust open and a haggard looking messenger stumbled towards them, two letters clutched in his hands. Robb was immediately upon his feet and striding towards him, impatient to wait seated behind the table.

The messenger near collapsed once he'd handed over the letters and Robb signaled to a servant to bring the man some sustenance while he read. The first letter was like a punch to the gut, a knife ripping through his heart, the ground beneath him giving way to nothing. He had to re-read it to ensure that he'd read correctly, the words almost like a foreign language to him. When he finally digested the meaning of the first letter he opened the second and felt only a flash of relief assuage the pain of the first letter, but it was too small to really do much to comfort him. After an attempt at a calming breath he turned to face the great table again.

"Winterfell." His voice cracked. "It's gone." His mother stood so quickly that her goblet was knocked over, her hands clutching together in front of her chest. "Bran." She could see the pulse in her mother's throat pound. "Rickon. They're gone."

His mother let out a harsh cry before collapsing back into her chair. Robb immediately moved towards his mother, only vaguely aware of the retreat of Sascha's kin from the room. When he was standing behind both his mother's chair and that of his wife he looked down to Sascha. Her expression was one of concern but also hesitation. Robb had not the energy to explain the situation to her and so handed her the letters. She was his wife now and would be a part of every decision he made from now on, it was only fitting that she should know that the home he had intended to take her to was now destroyed, that the family he'd wished to return to was now equally lost, and all at the hands of his childhood friend.

Robb pushed away his thoughts of Theon when he heard his mother chant Bran and Rickon's names. He knelt down and laid his head in her lap, his hands reached forward to grasp her waist, anchoring himself to her and the moment. He felt her hands in his hair, tugging and caressing, then felt them push at his shoulders, as if she didn't know what she was doing in her grief. Robb closed his eyes and allowed his tears to flow. His brothers were dead. His home destroyed. Dead. Destroyed. Dead. Destroyed.

Robb vaguely heard his wife's voice instructing someone to go to the kitchens but couldn't bring himself to look up to see who it was. He had no knowledge of time passing in fact, and didn't stir from his position until long after his knees had lost feeling against the stone floor and both he and his mother breathed as one in their grief.

"Who did this?" His mother's voice was raw when she finally spoke.

Robb sat up and wiped away the last salt lines from his face, "Theon Greyjoy and the Ironborn."

His mother's eyes widened and she looked down to him in shock and horror. She'd never held any great affection for the impish prisoner/ward, Robb knew that. But to have such atrocity happen at the hands of one who'd publically sworn his loyalty to the Stark family and had for so many years acted as friend and near kin to them was near as grieving as the results of the atrocity. Robb moved to sit in the chair his wife had vacated and with a heavy heart read through the letters, his hand reaching out to take his mother's when he read of his grandfather's execution. By the time he finished reading he felt a fresh wave of tears threaten to spill from his eyes but when he looked up to his mother he saw only the grief etched into lines of her face, her eyes red but dry. She'd retreated inside herself then, something he'd seen her do a time or two before when news came of his sisters (Arya's possible death).

"What will we do now Robb?" Her voice was soft, her eyes distant as if she was staring at the very ruins of their home.

Robb re-folded the letters and tucked them inside his tunic, "If we go back to Winterfell now we'll lose the ground we've gained and leave ourselves exposed to Lannister attacks. We are in a vulnerable position right now. I cannot fathom Theon doing this of his own accord, as much as I'd like to blame all this on a darkness in his soul. He must've been acting for someone else, his father maybe, or perhaps even the Lannisters. Maybe the Ironborn are now allied with them." He shook his head and leaned back in his chair, exhausted before the day had even truly begun. "Whatever the reasons, the Bolton's are closing in on Greyjoy's position and will reclaim the territory. That leaves us some time to finish this war, as quickly as possible, so we can get back to rebuild as soon as we can."

His mother nodded. "Your wife took the men to the kitchens."

Ah, so that had been what she'd been doing, and where she'd gone. Robb stood and extended his hand to his mother. They walked towards the kitchens, their heads high though their hearts were low. When they drew closer to the kitchens he heard his wife's voice, strong and confident sounding, as she went about explaining something. Once they stood in the doorway to the kitchen he saw that she was explaining yet another invention she'd designed, his men scattered at various tables in the large kitchen, making the room seem much smaller than it was. When they caught sight of him they ignored his wife and she fell silent, her eyes also turning towards him.

She looked relieved to see him and yet hesitant again, almost as if she wanted to flee from his presence. He stared at her then at the floor beside him, hoping she understood his desires without his having to voice them. When she took her place beside him he was relieved that she was intuitive enough to understand after all.

Robb looked out over the faces of his loyal men. "It is with a heavy heart that I must inform you of the news I received of Winterfell." Robb watched as the men shifted in their seats, preparing themselves for whatever he said next. "Theon Greyjoy and his Ironborn men have executed my grandfather Hoster Tully and destroyed Winterfell." There was a wave of grunts and gasps of anger and displeasure before he held up his hand for silence. "My brothers, Bran and Rickon, were lost in the destruction."

Robb felt both his mother and Sascha jump slightly when Lord Umber slammed his fist against the table and stood up, "That bastard Greyjoy!" Robb was accustomed to his bannerman's language and mirrored the man's rage but wondered if his wife was as used to such coarse language. "We await your orders, sire. Let us take back Winterfell, hunt down this rat bastard, and tear him limb from limb." There were more grunts from various men, in affirmation and approval of Lord Umber's request.

"Bolton's forces were reportedly within a few day's ride of Winterfell when the ravens left and by now they should have reached it. With their superior numbers it is only a matter of time before the Ironborn are forced to capitulate and withdraw, handing over," Robb paused finding it difficult to say his former friend's name, "Greyjoy in the process."

Robb wanted to give into his desire to storm back to Winterfell, acting like a Bolton in flaying Greyjoy for his betrayal. Yet he could not have all that he wanted. A second reminder of such a reality in one day, Robb mentally sighed. Being king was a succession of realizing that most everything that he wanted he could not have, and all for the greater good of his kingdom and his people.

"What would you have us do?" Lord Umber asked, breaking Robb from his self-reflection

Robb drew himself up to his full height and tipped his head upwards to gain just a few inches more before he replied, "I would have us win this war in order to rebuild Winterfell."

His men let out shouts in response and Robb felt his mother squeeze his forearm in approval. When he glanced over at his wife he saw that her expression had changed to one that he'd not seen directed towards himself before. It was almost admiration, if he wasn't mistaken, and even though he did not consider her to be kin and far from lover, the fact that his newfound wife also found his current inclination to be favorable made Robb stand that much taller.

"We will gather provisions at Harrenhall then move once more against the Lannisters." His men nodded and with these instructions nearly forgot about their breakfasts and made to leave immediately. Robb waited until the majority of his men left before he turned towards Sascha, "You will remain here with my mother." He began to move away from the kitchens, both his mother and Sascha falling into step beside him. He suddenly remembered her schematics from the night before, as well as her impromptu presentation to his men as she'd attempted to distract them. "I am curious," he looked over to Sascha, "do you think you could create some of those things you showed me the other night?"

He didn't have to look at his mother to feel her curiosity. He instead focused on his wife's reactions. At first she looked shocked then he saw a kind of hope and excitement leak into her eyes and move outwards into the muscles of her face. "Depends on which ones you'd like. We have enough supplies here to create a few of many different types or a lot of a few types." He watched in fascination as it seemed a new light came into her very being and if he wasn't mistaken it seemed that her body began to thrum with excitement. She was a strange woman, his wife, but perhaps her strangeness was what made her the perfect partner for such a time as this. "Of course, we'd have to petition my father for the supplies in order to make them. Then there's the time it'd take to make them as well; depending upon the machine, some take more time than others. Thankfully the blacksmiths around here are accustomed to working with me so that will aid in expediency."

Robb nodded, "Go and gather the schematics of the ones that would take the least amount of time but could render the most damage and meet me in the council room. I will find your father and then we will speak more of this."

Sascha nodded and fairly danced from his presence. Robb felt the desire to smile at her departure, finding her excitement contagious. When he looked back to his mother he wasn't disappointed to see her look of curiosity.

"I'll explain later. For now I'll go retrieve Lord Frey. You gather the bannermen leaders and let them know of the council." His mother nodded and left his side as well.

Finding Walder Frey had not been difficult, he'd still been abed and had been far from happy to be pulled from it. He continued to sleep on and off while they waited for Sascha and the others to arrive. He'd explained to Walder that the meeting was because of a new development in the war and as his newly acquired father-in-law he'd felt it necessary to include him in the council. The reminder of their marital connection had probably been the only thing that had gotten the man out of his bed and into the council room.

Sascha arrived first, her arms full of her blueprints and her eyes wide with that same excitement that he'd seen grow earlier. A few moments after her arrival, bannermen also came in with his mother, and once all were seated Robb spoke.

"It has come to my attention that my wife is a skilled artisan when it comes to creating devices that may be employed during war. No doubt you remember her demonstrations this morning with her smaller inventions in the kitchens, and we have all benefitted from her larger ones whenever we cross over the bridge." Robb saw out of the corner of his eyes Walder Frey move around in his seat as if he were uncomfortable. He wondered if the man had never taken pride in his daughter's genius. "To aid in our efforts and perhaps even to end the war more quickly, I propose that we employ some of her inventions for our campaign."

After he'd spoken some of his councilmen, and his mother, seemed just as incredulous as he had been when confronted with her abilities. Robb nodded his head in her direction and she stood up, her head held high and the same confidence he'd seen the night before coming back to her. One by one she presented the schematics of the machines she'd brought down. She passed around the drafts for each of them to see, and estimated the time, cost, and effort it would take to make each one of these machines. Robb had seen all of them and so had merely passed the parchments along for the others to see. He made eye contact with his mother and gave her a nod, letting her know that this was what he'd been talking about. Her shock was still apparent but it seemed, to Robb at least, that there was a new light of admiration for his wife in her expression as well. Robb felt pleased that she was as impressed with Sascha's abilities as he'd been.

After the shock had worn off of the room when Sascha finally finished, Lord Umber held up the draft in his hand and waved it about. "You say you could make around three of these, what did you call them?"

"Light-weight cannons." She replied.

"Yes, in about a month?"

"Yes."

Lord Umber reached across the table and took hold of another paper and held it up, "While you could make a dozen of these?"

"Hand missiles, yes; with the supplies that we currently have here at the Twins combined with the supplies of the surrounding fiefs, in conjunction with the man-power we could recruit from the same areas, it would take a little over two months' time to produce all of these items. The quality would be rudimentary but they would be operational and could aid you in the campaign." Lord Umber frowned and looked back down at the drafts while the rest of the council members looked equally unconvinced.

Robb watched his bannermen closely, gaging their thoughts based on their outward expressions. Some looked doubtful while others looked more curious than anything. He heard Walder Frey snore from his position beside him and he mentally sighed. The man was useless. Robb looked back to his wife's face. He hoped that she knew without him having to say that he was thankful for her willingness to even do this much. Exposing her talents to these men after such a brief acquaintance was asking a lot of her, he realized that, and yet he couldn't find surprise among his various emotions at the fact that she'd followed through with his request. Though she was far from what he'd expected to marry, and he still could not bring himself to be particularly happy that he had married her, he was not an idiot enough to not be thankful that she was proving a much better asset than he could have ever imagined.

"Well," Lord Umber broke the silence, "even if all that it does is make a ruckus and blow some smoke at least it'll help scare the arses off the Lannister forces."

Robb felt the council room relax as one by one his bannermen all chuckled and nodded in agreement with Umber. Robb looked back towards Sascha once she was seated and he offered her a small smile before he turned and woke up her father, asking for permission to use his smithies. The man grumbled out his approval before he darted from the room with surprising speed given his age; most likely he needed the privy. Robb adjourned them, after giving each man a particular mission. Eventually all left except for Robb and Sascha, she was still in the process of gathering all her blueprints. Robb waited by the door until she came close before he spoke.

"Thank you." He felt strange saying this to his wife and yet he felt compelled to tell her.

Sascha smiled as she rolled up her drafts, the smile genuine and warm, "It is my duty as your wife now to support you in whatever way you ask." Robb fought against his own smile at the reminder to their fight over marriage roles. "I am only thankful that my unique abilities can be made of use now." Her voice sounded almost relieved and tired at the same time with the admission and Robb could only assume that she'd had to keep her talents in the dark for so long that she'd expected to never receive credit for them or the opportunity to test them, aside from the brief moments in the past.

"You will be able to oversee all of this while I am gone?" He asked then, gesturing with his arm for her to precede him out the door.

"Of course," she spoke over her shoulder until he could match her step, "you will be gone to Harrenhall for how long?"

"It should take us a fortnight to make it there and return with the supplies." They continued to walk in silence for a few more paces until finally Robb stopped. "I will leave you here. I must meet with some of my councilmen a bit more." He didn't know if that was enough to say, if she understood well enough just how thankful he truly was to her for her efforts that morning to help he and his mother or for now her willingness to help his campaign. He took a breath, readying himself for some sort of babbling, when she interrupted him.

"I will see you for the evening meal then." He nodded to her and watched as she turned and hurried away from him, this time not out of retreat but out of purpose.

The rest of the day flew by with preparations for their early morning departure and Robb spared not a moment thinking of his wife or their developing relationship. There were a few moments where a wave of despair would interrupt his thoughts or speech, the faces of his brothers passing before his mind's eye, but then he'd shake himself out of the stupor and return to his purpose. He would avenge their deaths, but it would be calculated and not impulsive. He'd ruined enough lives with impulsivity. He'd not condemn the remnants of his family with such actions again.

By the time the evening meal began Robb felt more prepared for his next actions and was satisfied to know that all his men were together with him in his plans. He looked up to see both his mother and Sascha enter the great hall together, where most of the others were already seated and beginning the evening meal. Robb glanced curiously between the women, neither one meeting his eyes right away as they took their seats. When Sascha finally made eye contact she offered a soft smile, though the earlier confidence and ease was gone, replaced with the hesitant gestures that she often employed when around him. Robb sighed.

"Where did the day take you?" he asked after she swallowed her bite of food.

"After I spoke with the blacksmiths, your mother asked me to accompany her through the encampment outside. She wanted me to see your forces for myself and meet some of your people." Robb paused, his goblet almost to his mouth. He couldn't help but wonder if she'd seen Talisa. "And you, how did your meeting go?"

He set down his cup, relieved that she didn't seek to speak of his former lover, and spoke briefly of his meeting with his men. She listened attentively, looking almost as relieved as he to not speak of Talisa. When Robb turned the conversation back towards her preparations for her machines he felt satisfaction when the same energy he'd seen in her earlier that day return. He found that he rather liked seeing this version of his wife. Though eccentric, the passion with which she felt towards her work infused her words, her gestures, her expressions. Robb liked listening to her when she was like this, confident and sure. There were no hesitations, no second-guessing, and there was ease between them. It was as if she'd forgotten that he was her husband now and she his wife and all she saw from him was interest in her work. He hoped that she also felt his belief in her capabilities. He'd never before met someone with such talents and he'd be a fool to doubt her as an inventor. That such a capable inventor was now his wife still served as a shock to Robb, but with each passing moment spent in Sascha's impassioned presence, Robb found that perhaps the shock would wear off to a constant state of gratitude.

They went to bed without the strange barrier between them and Robb again woke with a sense of peace in lurking in the corners of his mind. He left his wife and mother at the Twins with hope in his heart. His hope couldn't have prepared him for what he found just outside Harrenhall however. They hadn't quite made it to the fortress when a few of his scouts came towards him, near dragging three haggard looking figures with them. When the figures got closer one of them let out a strange cry and Robb couldn't stop the mass of dirty clothing and wiry muscles from enveloping him in a foul smelling embrace.

"Robbrobbrobbrobbrobb." Robb realized that the figure was chanting his name in his ear and it took only a few seconds of listening to the voice to recognize that this dirty figure clinging to him as if clinging to life itself was his little sister, Arya. He felt his knees give way and he fell then, taking his sister with him, his arms wrapped tightly around her, afraid that if he let go of her she'd disappear again. His sister was alive! Alive! Arya was alive!

Robb didn't realize that he was crying until he pulled back just enough to gaze into the impish face of his littlest sister, seeing a mirror of his own joy in her dirty, tear-stained face. He reached out and laughed at the absurdities of life as he smoothed away the tears, leaving streaks in the muck on her face. Her hair was wild about her head, cropped short, and her clothing was obviously stolen and ill-fitting, doing much in her favor as she'd obviously been disguised as a boy. She equally traced her fingers over his features, as if she were trying to reassure herself that he was truly there.

"Arya." He hugged her again and she was content to return his embrace. She'd never been much for affection but after all that they'd been through it seemed that her inclination had tipped in favor of such actions.

It was some time later, once they'd both regained composure of themselves, that the other two figures were introduced: Hot Pie was a heavyset jolly looking fellow and Gendry, obviously the eldest of the ragtag group. It was a combination of Arya and Gendry who explained in rushed detail of the events that had led to the unexpected reunion outside Harrenhall. As Gendry spoke Robb watched him, finding certain mannerisms and features about the lad strangely familiar. He couldn't put his hand on what it was about the lad that led to such a feeling but it was there nonetheless. It was obvious to Robb that Gendry felt himself Arya's protector, as he was never far from her side, and she seemed content to be near him as well, although she never gave off the demeanor of one who was in need of protection. Robb filed this information away for later perusal.

He instructed his men to strip Harrenhall of all its useful supplies, kill any who were Lannister supporters, and release the last of the living prisoners who had been kept in such horrid conditions. When Gendry had informed him of Tywin's plans to rejoin the remainder of the Lannister troops in an effort to drive him from the Westernlands Robb felt a fresh wave of bloodlust. He'd rid the land of Tywin Lannister and all his kind until the war was finally over and his last sister returned to him.

When he told Arya of the events at Winterfell he'd had to restrain her from marching out into the night, intent upon going to Winterfell herself to find Greyjoy. He'd felt his blood turn to ice when she told him that she'd heard Tywin speak of their secret allies in the north, leading Robb to doubt the Bolton loyalty. Even if the Bolton's had switched sides there was not much he could do at the moment. One battle at a time. Lannister's first (and Sansa with them) then Winterfell.

Their departure for the Twins was further delayed by some mishandling of the supplies but finally they were on their way, only a few days behind schedule. When they passed within walking distance of Hot Pie's home he too delayed their movements when he departed their company, much to Arya's chagrin. Robb felt relief however, as the boy looked far too innocent to be of any use in a military campaign. Arya rode with him and they spoke more intimately of all that had transpired in each of their lives since they'd last seen one another. Robb many times felt his heart still at the tales his littlest sister told him, appalled that she'd had to witness such atrocities, yet proud that she'd found her feet and survived like a true Stark. Arya was surprised to discover that he'd married but had no opinion on the matter when he'd said he'd married a Frey. Arya had never been interested in family politics, that was been more of Sansa's interest. If she had an opinion at all on the fact that she was married she kept that to herself. He did not tell her of Talisa however, as that particular fact was not a necessary one to be known anymore.

By the time they could see the Twins he felt both reconnected to his sister as well as estranged. She was no longer the little imp he'd known. She was as changed by the circumstances around them as he'd been; they were as much strangers to each other now as they were kin. It would take time to unravel the strange cords that knotted the tapestry of their connection, and Robb hoped they could end the war quickly so that they could have that time.

When they rode into the keep of the Twins Robb immediately saw both his mother and wife waiting for him on the castle steps. His wife wore one of her strange outfits again, most likely because they were more practical for the work she'd been up to in his absence. He noticed more her expression though. She looked relieved to have him back and Robb felt as type of pleasure at the knowledge that she'd felt his absence in a sense. His thoughts were interrupted when his mother cried out.

"Arya!" She threw herself down the remaining steps and Robb felt Arya squirm behind him before she too jumped to the ground and leapt into his mother's arms. Robb watched their reunion with a knowing smile for a moment before he looked to Sascha and included her in the moment of joy. She returned his smile with one of her own and Robb felt that peace he sometimes felt in her presence inch back into his mind.

* * *

Plan of Attack: Sascha

She woke with a hand on her breast and hot breath on her neck. Sascha knew well that it was not Robar, even in the early waking moments of the morning her mind was clear enough to realize that that particular bedmate was no more. The reality of her marriage was so fresh in her mind, however, that it took a few more blinking moments for her to come to the conclusion that it was in fact Robb's hand upon her chest and his breath on her neck. Sascha glanced to the side, not daring to move her head, and found Robb's head resting on the pillow beside hers, his face tilted downwards. His nose brushed the skin on her neck as he breathed and the moist, hot air fanned out over her shoulder and chest. While his close proximity set her senses on alert, the fact that he slept still aided in keeping her from overreacting.

Sascha closed her eyes for a moment and gaged where else their bodies may be touching, determining how difficult it would be to extract herself from him without waking him. One of his heavy legs was resting close to her left thigh but thankfully, aside from his arm and hand, he was not atop her. A small part of her brain, the area she ignored much of the time, found his presence near her and the heat from his body mixing with her own to be comforting. The larger portion of her brain, however, reminded that smaller portion that in his sleep Robb thought her body was another woman's and just how comforting would it be to have him awake to find himself embracing his wife and not his lover? Sascha opened her eyes, not wanting to imagine the look of revulsion that would most likely cross her new husband's face at that hypothetical moment.

Resolved to be out of bed before he awoke, Sascha reached down and gently took hold of the man's wrist. With slow, calculated, near hesitant movements, Sascha began the process of inching away. She was thankful that she typically slept close to the edge of the bed, an old habit born of the necessity for a quick escape on the terrible nights her father decided to come for her. She managed to get one foot on the floor beside the bed before she began to angle her shoulders away, keeping a gentle grip on Robb's wrist as she did so. She was just about to place his hand on the still-warm bed where her body had once been when the man mumbled something in his sleep and jerked his wrist from her grasp. Surprised by his movements, Sascha lost her balance and fell the rest of the way to the floor, banging her head against the small table she kept beside the bed for the times she was struck with an idea late in the night.

She didn't want to stand up, afraid that she'd find her husband staring her as she rubbed at the newly formed knob of throbbing pain on her forehead. However, she'd rather he not move closer to the edge of the bed to find her sprawled on the ground beside the bed in this manner: undignified and vulnerable. She hated it when people looked down on her from heights that she could control (a person's natural stature did not bother her) and was therefore determined to face whatever scrutiny her husband might give her when he watched her stand instead of waiting for him to find her.

Her fears were well-founded as Robb's eyes were indeed open and quick to track her as she stood from her former position on the floor. His expression was one of confusion, either from the fact that she'd been on the floor or from the fact that they'd slept together—maybe he morning mind was slow to connect events.

"Good morning." Sascha broke the silence first, hoping to distract him from any questioning he might have for why she'd be on the floor so early in the morning, or at all for that matter. "I hope you slept well." She moved from the side of the bed, turning her back to him, and busied herself with finding appropriate clothing for the day.

There was a pause in which she heard the covers of the bed rustling before Robb replied, "I slept well enough, thank you." She ducked behind the changing screen for the dual purpose of having privacy to change and also to avoid seeing her husband as he stood from their shared bed—that was an image she'd rather not have for her imagination to bounce from.

"When will we leave for Winterfell?" Sascha asked without meaning to in particular. She did want to know when it was she could leave the oppressive walls of her former home but she did not want to seem overly enthusiastic about that prospect. Too much enthusiasm and it might set him questioning as to her reasons for wanting to leave so quickly with a man she was so reluctant to marry.

"No one will be returning to Winterfell," her husband's voice was firm, a surprising sound so early in the morning, "not until my sisters are returned and this war ended."

Sascha frowned, wanting to smack herself for her inconsiderate inquiry. Of course they wouldn't be returning to Robb's lands just yet. It wasn't as if they'd married for the joy of merely united their houses. It had been a strategic alliance in a time of war. She'd be best to never forget that bit of information, no matter how much she'd prefer to. Even from behind the changing screen she heard the door click as it shut, sparing her from further awkward conversation with the man. Sascha let out the breath she'd begun to hold and braced her hands against the cool surface of the stone wall. She was going to have to gear up for the next interaction with her husband, and this next one in public. What joys.

When she found her husband again he was already in the dining hall, breaking fast with his mother as well as with her step-mother and a few of her sisters. The hour was still fairly early so the lack of a larger gathering for the morning meal was not surprising to Sascha. There were days that her father didn't remove himself from his chamber until the midday meal, and the retinue of her more like-minded brothers in his wake. There were a few of her half-brothers that did not follow in her father's footsteps, who were more like whichever mother had birthed them. Some were more skilled with diplomacy, others with figures and letters, and still others with the arts. In spite of their talents or the variety of temperament they held, they were all equally cursed to live with the Frey name, and it was a damned curious thing what a name could do to a person.

"Good morning." Lady Stark smiled at Sascha's approach, the smile near genuine on the otherwise stone-like features of the once beautiful woman, her beauty now frozen in a grimace of pain. When Sascha took her seat between Lady Stark and her husband she offered the woman a smile of her own. She didn't have the opportunity extend a familiarly polite greeting to her, however, as the woman spoke again before she could. "My dear, whatever happened to your head?"

Sascha reached up to the area Lady Stark's eyes rested and felt the bump her early fall had produced. She hadn't realized that it would be so visible, or large. Maybe she'd been too keen on remaining undiscovered that she hadn't noticed just how hard she'd hit her head at the time. She suddenly felt Robb's eyes on her as well but refused to look in his direction, afraid that he'd connect events and remember from where she'd stood that morning. It was a small matter, one of pride and an innate dislike of embarrassment, but the lump on her forehead reminded her of just how much she didn't want to lose to the man sitting beside her. He was not going to give her any of himself so why should she give any of herself, including an inch of her pride?

"Sometimes in the morning I can be a bit clumsy and I knocked my writing table over; I must have hit my head when I pulled it up too quickly. I barely felt a thing to be honest." She took a drink from the goblet a servant had filled in her lapsed silence. "My mother always told me my thick skull would prevent me from too much damage." Her attempt at humor surprised herself and it seemed also surprised the other two as they sat in silence for a moment before Lady Stark offered another smile, this one even more genuine than the first.

"I am glad that you are not hurt then. My own daughter, Arya, often got into scrapes growing up, always coming to meals with new bruises or bumps."

Sascha heard a sound, almost like a chuckle, come from Robb. "And always with an elaborate excuse for why it was there and why it wasn't her fault."

The moment of inclusion in their past was like a balm to her taxed mind and Sascha allowed an equally genuine smile touch her lips when she looked to her husband and then to her new mother-in-law. The moment was broken, however, when the door to the great hall was thrust open and a haggard looking messenger stumbled towards them, two letters clutched in his hands. In times of war the arrival of a such a messenger rarely boded well; this was something Sascha had learned from her previous husband—a veteran of numerous skirmishes. The arrival of such a messenger with two messages was almost assuredly bad news.

Robb met the man halfway, intercepting the letters before his mother could stand. Perhaps this was his subtle way of sparing her, or preparing himself for whatever it was he would tell her after he read the news. She could sense a darkness seep from the letters as Robb read through them, his body becoming slack then tense with the shock of whatever they contained. The great hall was silent, even Sascha's kin having stilled their movements as they waited for Robb's response. When he did finally turn to face Lady Stark and herself his eyes were changed, deadened from grief, his skin as pale as snow.

"Winterfell." His voice cracked. "It's gone." Lady Stark stood so quickly that her goblet was knocked over and bits of the wine that had been in it dripped onto Sascha's lap. "Bran." His eyes sought out his mother's alone. "Rickon. They're gone."

Lady Stark let out a sound, like that of a wounded animal and collapsed back into her chair. Sascha looked over to her kin and with a nod signaled for them to depart, even as Robb climbed back up to be by his mother's side. Sascha moved to stand and leave as well but Robb finally made eye contact with her and wordlessly handed her the letters before he dropped down to his knees beside his mother. Sascha quickly read through them, her own stomach nearly emptying itself at the information she found: Winterfell destroyed, the two youngest Stark's dead, Robb's grandfather's execution, and all at the hands of a former ally and friend.

Sascha looked up and watched Lady Stark's lips move, the names of her two youngest sons falling out of her mouth like a prayer. She glanced down towards Robb and saw that he too was crying, his face almost buried in his mother's lap. At the same time that Lady Stark's hands sought out Robb's head to stroke and comfort, it seemed that she equally wanted to push him away to grieve on her own. To lose a husband, to have her only daughters held for ransom—with one perhaps dead—and now to have her two youngest children murdered, Sascha found it a wonder that the woman's heart didn't give out right then and there.

The door to the great hall opened again and Sascha looked up to see some of Robb's men begin to come inside for breakfast, unaware, it seemed, of the grief that was currently being acted upon at the main table at her side. Sascha glanced down again at Robb and from the look on his tear-stained face, she knew what she could do to help. She briefly laid a hand on his shoulder, and another on Lady Stark's, before she moved past them both and intercepted the newcomers.

"Your meal will be in the kitchens this morning. As the great hall is still in shambles from the festivities last night, your food will be more fresh and delicious if you follow me to the kitchens." She would try to give mother and son a few more private moments together before they recollected themselves enough to face the rest of the company who'd traveled with them.

Sascha didn't take it upon herself to inform the others of the horrific news, however; she knew that that was Robb's place. At first Robb's men glanced past her towards Robb and his mother but after a few moments of silent contemplation they each came to the conclusion that she was now their queen just as much as Robb was their king and so they followed her. Sascha then sent some servants to stand guard in front of the great hall doors in order to redirect the rest of Robb's bannermen as well.

While they ate, she kept them distracted by demonstrating the pulley system within the kitchens that she'd invented to expedite the cooking and serving process; she also had some servants pull out a few of the prototype conveyor belts she'd made for the blacksmith that they used between the kitchen gardens and the pantry. Some seem more impressed than others, and all of them found her interaction with them to be wholly strange and unexpected—as she'd only become their queen and a member of their party the night before—but they were complacent enough with her instructions and diversions until at last she saw them looking over her shoulder—from where she'd been demonstrating a joint-release knife wielding invention she'd still not quite figured out—and also turned to find Robb and his mother standing at the entrance to the kitchen with red-rimmed eyes, but stony faces.

She unhooked the knife sheath and gave it to a servant to put back in its place. She would've left the room entirely but upon looking at Robb's face she saw his eyes move from her face to the floor beside him and knew that she was yet again to be by his side. Sascha moved quickly until she stood just to Robb's side, his mother on the other, and clasped her hands in front of the wine stain she'd received earlier—and had completely forgotten about until now.

"It is with a heavy heart that I must inform you of the news I received of Winterfell." Sascha watched as the men shifted in their seats, preparing themselves for whatever Robb said next. "Theon Greyjoy and his Ironborn men have executed my grandfather Hoster Tully and destroyed Winterfell." There was a wave of grunts and gasps of anger and displeasure before Robb held up his hand for silence. "My brothers, Bran and Rickon, were lost in the destruction."

Sascha jumped slightly when Lord Umber slammed his fist against the table and stood up, "That bastard Greyjoy!" He didn't in the least look apologetic for his language when his wild eyes swung towards hers before moving back to Robb's. "We await your orders, sire. Let us take back Winterfell, hunt down this rat bastard, and tear him limb from limb." There were more grunts from various men, in affirmation and approval of Lord Umber's request.

"Bolton's forces were reportedly within a few day's ride of Winterfell when the ravens left and by now they should have reached it. With their superior numbers it is only a matter of time before the Ironborn are forced to capitulate and withdraw, handing over," Robb paused and it appeared to Sascha that he was having a hard time saying the man's name, "Greyjoy in the process."

From his tone of voice, and also the way in which he held himself deathly still, his mother in a similar stance, Sascha knew that this was not at all what he wanted to do. While her own family was strange and complex she would rather be killed herself than be postponed in avenging the deaths of her sisters. Perhaps Robb was growing into the kingly role that had been bestowed upon him—and her insinuations against him were becoming more and more unfounded—and he had seen the merit in maintaining his army here at the Twins in the hopes of ending the war more quickly, instead of turning around and losing all the ground they'd already lost lives over.

"What would you have us do?" Lord Umber asked, looking both defeated and determined at the same time.

Robb drew himself up to his full height and tipped his head upwards to gain just a few inches more before he replied in an undeniably kingly voice, "I would have us win this war in order to rebuild Winterfell."

His men let out shouts in response and Sascha found that even though she still felt him to be a spoiled, inexperienced, immature, and idiotic—at least in romantic matters—man he did appear to have qualities she previously had overlooked, or had not seen. Granted she'd only known him for a short amount of time, and all of their interactions had been conducted under duress. But it was still reassuring to see that she hadn't married the "pup" her father accused Robb of being.

"We will gather provisions at Harrenhall then move once more against the Lannisters." His men nodded and with these instructions nearly forgot about their breakfasts and made to leave immediately. As the men filed past them Robb turned towards Sascha, "You will remain here with my mother." He tilted his head to the side as he turned and started to move away from the kitchens, his mother falling into step with him. Sascha did as well. "I am curious," his voice was deeper, rough from the grief he'd been washed with earlier, "do you think you could create some of those things you showed me the other night?"

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Robb's mother look strangely at them both but she answered as if she hadn't seen the woman's odd look, "Depends on which ones you'd like. We have enough supplies here to create a few of many different types or a lot of a few types." She began to feel a thrum of excitement course through her veins; the idea of being able to employ her machines in an actual campaign most thrilling. "Of course, we'd have to petition my father for the supplies in order to make them. Then there's the time it'd take to make them as well; depending upon the machine, some take more time than others. Thankfully the blacksmiths around here are accustomed to working with me so that will aid in expediency."

Robb nodded, "Go and gather the schematics of the ones that would take the least amount of time but could render the most damage and meet me in the council room. I will find your father and then we will speak more of this."

Sascha nodded and barely kept herself from running off to her, their, room. She supposed it was not a particularly attractive trait, to be excited about making machines whose purpose was to kill and maim, but the idea of being able to see her machines built, and used properly, kept her from dwelling overly much on the bloody side-effects. She'd originally begun planning them in the hopes of ending wars more quickly, decisively, and thusly saving more lives in the long run. Of course, she had yet to see if that would in fact be the case—she could only hope so.

By the time she made it back to the council room both her father and Robb were there. Her father looked horribly hung-over—which meant he would either be very agreeable to their petition in order to go back to bed or the opposite because he had a headache. A few moments after her arrival, the leaders of Robb's bannermen also came in, along with Robb's mother, and once all were seated Robb spoke.

"It has come to my attention that my wife is a skilled artisan when it comes to creating devices that may be employed during war. No doubt you remember her demonstrations this morning with her smaller inventions in the kitchens, and we have all benefitted from her larger ones whenever we cross over the bridge." Sascha saw her father shift uncomfortably in his seat, his face ugly with an intense scowl. He'd never liked her abilities but he'd never stopped her, so long as he could benefit or she kept out of his way. To have her abilities spoken of so openly now, however, seemed to disturb him to a level she hadn't expected. "To aid in our efforts and perhaps even to end the war more quickly, I propose that we employ some of her inventions for our campaign."

After he'd spoken some of his councilmen, and his mother, seemed just as incredulous as Robb—and so many others before them—had been when confronted with her abilities. Robb nodded his head in her direction and she stood up, determined to remain immune to their disbelief. One by one she presented the schematics of the machines she'd brought down, even passed around the drafts for each of them to see, and estimated the time, cost, and effort it would take to make each one of these machines. After the shock had worn off of the room when she'd finished, Lord Umber held up the draft in his hand and waved it about.

"You say you could make around three of these, what did you call them?"

"Light-weight cannons."

"Yes, in about a month?"

"Yes."

Lord Umber reached across the table and took hold of another paper and held it up, "While you could make a dozen of these?"

"Hand missiles, yes; with the supplies that we currently have here at the Twins combined with the supplies of the surrounding fiefs, in conjunction with the man-power we could recruit from the same areas, it would take a little over two months' time to produce all of these items. The quality would be rudimentary but they would be operational and could aid you in the campaign." Lord Umber frowned and looked back down at the drafts while the rest of the council members looked equally unconvinced.

When she looked over at her father she saw that he'd fallen asleep while Lady Stark, sitting to his left, stared at her with what seemed to be a mixture of confusion and something else—Sascha couldn't put her finger on what it might be. Confronted so strongly with the fact that her new daughter-in-law was far from traditional, Sascha could only assume that the woman was trying to come to terms with the facts—a difficult feat so soon after the other shocking news she'd received just that morning.

Moving her gaze from Lady Stark, Sascha glanced at her husband and saw that he was looking pensively between her and the rest of his men, his face braced upon his hands. He looked every bit the wolf then, his eyes calculating, the way he was perched on the edge of his seat making him look like he was ready to pounce into action. She couldn't tell if his look was one of support or not, but at least she saw no disappointment in his expression.

"Well," Lord Umber spoke again, "even if all that it does is make a ruckus and blow some smoke at least it'll help scare the arses off the Lannister forces."

The council room relaxed at the sound of amused grunts and chuckles and Sascha felt the breath she'd been holding fall out of her. She nodded to the big man and sat back down, her eyes seeking out Robb's. He nodded to her once before he turned and woke up her father. He near immediately gave his consent to lend out the supplies—she knew that he most likely needed to use the bathroom given how much ale he'd drunk just during her presentation. They were all adjourned then, each with a mission to gather this or that or speak to this or that person for preparations. On her way out the door, however, Robb stopped her. He looked strange, going from the confident man presiding over a war council just moments prior, to suddenly being unable to maintain eye contact.

"Thank you." She understood then, why he seemed so uneasy. It must be strange, thanking one's wife for supplying war machines in order to win a campaign. Added to that, a wife that had previously been unwanted.

Sascha smiled as she rolled up her drafts, eager to set upon the blacksmith, "It is my duty as your wife now to support you in whatever way you ask." She saw his lips twitch when, as she'd hoped, her reference to their earlier fight over marriage roles came through. "I am only thankful that my unique abilities can be made of use now."

"You will be able to oversee all of this while I am gone?" He asked then, gesturing with his arm for her to precede him out the door.

Sascha hid a smile, why should she not? "Of course," she spoke over her shoulder until he could match her step, "you will be gone to Harrenhall for how long?"

"It should take us a fortnight to make it there and return with the supplies." They continued to walk in silence for a few more paces until finally Robb stopped. "I will leave you here. I must meet with some of my councilmen a bit more." Even though he stated his intention to leave he still hovered nearby, making Sascha smile inwardly.

"I will see you for the evening meal then." They'd all missed the midday meal due to their council. Robb seemed a bit more at ease with this statement and nodded. She gave a nod of her own then without waiting for him to leave first, she turned and walked away. Their relationship was certainly a strange one; but she hadn't the time, thankfully, to dwell on it.

After she met with the blacksmiths and gave them instructions—more like argued her demands across to their lazy hides—she ended up meeting and accompanying Lady Stark through the encampment of Stark forces just outside the walls of the Twins. She knew that the woman had bid her join her because it was befitting of her new position to be seen amongst the Stark's, walking side-by-side with Lady Stark herself. Still dressed in her stain-laden dress, though now with a cloak about her shoulders that aided in covering it a bit, she felt like a sparrow next to a swan. Though she herself appeared refined and graceful, never allowing her true feelings to surface whilst in public, Lady Stark appeared to be accepting of those who were less so. Granted, the tall woman, Brienne of Tarth, considered herself Lady Stark's swornsword, was often about doing Lady Stark's bidding, and if Lady Stark could accept that warrioress so thoroughly and without judgment then surely she could accept Sascha and her quirks just as readily.

They had walked in silence for some time, nodding to this or that person they passed, before Lady Stark breached the quiet between them, "I cannot thank you enough for what you're doing for my son."

Sascha quirked her eyebrows upwards as she replied, "There is no need to thank a wife for her support of her husband."

She watched as Lady Stark's twitched, as if they fought a smile or a frown, or both at the same time. "You and I are both intimately acquainted with the reasons behind my gratitude." She did look at Sascha briefly and Sascha felt herself a school girl for blushing slightly under the woman's gaze. "You did not need to be so quick to support or give aid, nor did you have to seek to distract the others in order to give Robb and I time to collect ourselves this morning. Of that I am most grateful as well."

"I have done what I believe to be honorable and decent. I can do nothing less."

Lady Stark stopped and looked at her strangely. They stood staring at one another for a few moments, Sascha growing more and more disquieted under the intensity of her gaze, before finally the woman spoke up, moving forward once more. "With that sentiment you remind me of my husband."

Sascha felt herself grow chilled at the same time that she blushed. Her husband had been killed for his honor and while she appreciated the comparison to a man she also believed—from the stories she'd heard—to be honorable, the comparison at the same time made her feel a bit cursed. Would she too find herself on the wrong side of a sword because of her strong sentiments? Would her aid to her husband only bring about their mutual destruction?

Lady Stark suddenly hesitated in her movements and Sascha looked up to see what it was that made the woman pause. Standing in front of them, a few paces away, was a strikingly beautiful woman. Her arms were full of what looked to be healing supplies but her face did not hold the expression of a healer, instead it held one of scorn and pain. From the way Lady Stark suddenly gestured for Sascha to join her down another row of tents, coupled with the rapidity of the other woman's retreat back the way she came, Sascha could only gather that she had been Talisa.

They passed the remaining time amongst the tents speaking of trivial matters: her schooling growing up, some of the funnier stories she and her sisters could share, how it was she'd begun to invent machines, and also she gave the woman time to reminisce about her own children—watching the woman's face soften as the memories came to her mind then harden towards the end when reality once more set in. By the time they returned to the main hall, Sascha felt she had a better understanding of the woman now her mother-in-law. A strong woman indeed, she also felt passionately and was not quick to forget both the good times as well as the bad.

They entered the great hall together, where most of the others were already seated and beginning the evening meal. Sascha caught Robb's eyes, his expression one of curiosity when he saw that she came in with his mother. She took her place beside him and began to eat without prompting from him. He allowed some time to pass before he questioned her about her whereabouts.

"After I spoke with the blacksmiths, your mother asked me to accompany her through the encampment outside. She wanted me to see your forces for myself and meet some of your people." Out of the corner of her eye she saw that he'd paused mid-drink, as if he knew instinctively just who it was she'd most likely had seen while there. "And you, how did your meeting go?"

He set down his cup and spoke briefly of his meeting with his men, obviously thankful for the change in subject. Though she was not nearly as bothered by the fact that her husband loved another woman as some might be—so long as he maintained his distance and did not try to force her to become physically intimate with him—she was not yet ready to speak plainly about her existence either. Speaking to him about her before their marriage had been easy enough, as she felt it her duty to speak of it for the sake of her sisters. But now that she was the one married to him, she felt strangely reluctant to address the obvious.

When Robb turned the conversation back towards her preparations for her machines she felt the same energy she'd felt earlier that day, as well as on their wedding night, return. Sascha still felt surprised at the amount of faith her husband so quickly put into her capabilities as an inventor. But then again, she reminded herself, every day Robb and his men rode across one such invention—well an improvement really—and that improved invention had been the reason for his marrying her and not the woman he loved. Coupled with the few smaller inventions that she had created years before at the Twins, the pulley system their kitchens used and the conveyor belt their blacksmith used, she figured Robb saw her inventions as the extra element of surprise that would continue to turn the war in Stark favor. Her abilities were just as much of a commodity as the bridge had been; nothing more or less. She would need to keep this focus in mind.

Their departure to Harrenhall the following morning and the subsequent absence of Robb and much of his men was not overly felt by Sascha. She'd not grown so accustomed to having another presence in bed with her to miss it now that he was gone. Nor had they'd grown so close in their conversations that she'd overly miss those either. Towards the end of the fortnight, she did realize that she was looking forward to presenting the near-finished products to Robb, to see that smile she'd only glimpsed a few times before return to his face.

His return was delayed however, and there was no raven of explanation. Sascha did not feel the same tense apprehension that Lady Stark felt, but she did feel tense none-the-less. Her reasons were cloudy at best. She hoped to have her inventions used and proved, she hoped to escape the confines of this place and be away from her father once more, and that small portion of her brain that she usually ignored was curious if there could be something more to develop between herself and her husband. If he did not return then none of this would occur and she'd be left here, though perhaps Lady Stark would honor the marriage, as faulty as it'd been, and keep her by her side for whatever they'd do next.

She didn't have to contemplate that for many days, however, as four days past the expected return of the company of Stark fighters, they were sighted on Frey land, encumbered with many supplies. It took another two days before they were within sight of the Twins and when they finally passed over the bridge and into the keep of the Frey stronghold, both Sascha and Lady Stark were there to greet the force. It was easy to spot Robb, his reddish hair an easy target amongst the browns and blacks of the other men. Instead of riding alone, however, he had upon his horse a small boy it seemed. What sort of person could this ragged urchin be that Robb would allow him to ride with him upon his own horse?

"Arya!" Lady Stark exclaimed and fairly threw herself down the remaining steps that led into the castle. The boy, now discovered to be a girl, equally tossed herself to the ground and scrambled into her mother's arms. Sascha looked up from the mass of arms and tears and clothing kneeling on the ground to her husband. He was smiling when he met her eyes. It was a smile of tired relief, one of tentative hope. Sascha returned the smile.


	5. Startling Revelations

_I apologize for the horribly delayed update. I also thank you, those of you who are returning and reading in spite of my lapse in updating. I appreciate your reviews and critiques as this story unfolds. As a reminder: this is not a retelling of day-to-day events. It will not get embroiled in the politics surrounding families as is typical for GoT's stories. It is also not a three-some, I'm not quite sure where that idea came from, in response to a review written, as what has been presented in the story thus far shows that there isn't even a triangle: Robb has ties to Talisa prior to his marriage to Sascha and now Robb and Sascha are attempting to make their marriage work, but the past will not stay in the past in order to make it easy on them. Other pairings will begin to feature in the story, namely Arya and Gendry as well as Sansa and Tyri0n. I will not apologize if those are not pairings to your liking, but you may choose to voice your like or dislike in a review._

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Startling Revelations: Sascha

"So you're Robb's wife?"

Sascha looked up from where she'd been re-checking the measurements of the next machine the blacksmiths were set to create. Robb's sister stood just shy of the entrance of the smithies, her ever present shadow of the name Gendry just behind her. Their introductions two days before had not been rushed but had felt that way, partly due to the fact that Arya had little to no interest in spending time getting to know Sascha or her kin now that she was reunited with her own family and had so much to tell them. Sascha didn't feel rebuffed in the least, on the contrary she found the little effort that girl had made to even mention her name the night they'd met to be both commendable and surprising. That she had obviously sought out Sascha now, on her second full day back with her family, was also surprising. Perhaps Robb was busy with a council meeting and his mother with him, while Sascha had continued to be left alone to work with the smithies on the designs of her machines. She didn't much care when or where they attacked the Lannister's, only that her machines served them all well and that the war could be ended soon. She was anxious to leave Frey lands to start the new chapter in her life, now that it had been decided what would be the overarching theme of it all: being the unwanted yet necessary wife to the young pup-wolf of the north.

"So you're Robb's youngest sister." Sascha tossed the blunt statement back at the girl with a smirk to go along with it. She moved her eyes to the man-boy behind Arya, "And you're Gendry." She watched his gaze for a moment and traced it to its target: where one of her smithies was working on one of the more delicate parts of the hand missile. "Have you experience with smithing?"

"In King's Landing I was apprenticing before-" the boy cut himself off by withdrawing his gaze from the liquid metal and refocused his attention back on Sascha. "Yes, I have experience."

Sascha raised an eyebrow at him and continued to study him, especially his close proximity to Arya and that fact that they seemed to mirror each other's body language. Finally making an internal decision, she reached down and picked up the schematics she'd been working on and held it out towards Gendry. The boy didn't move at first until Sascha shook the parchment in his direction again.

"My smithies seem to have problems with the interlocking joints here," she pointed to the area she spoke about only once Gendry stepped forward and received the parchment from her fingers, "and here. Do you know if you could handle that?"

"You would trust him to work on your machines so quickly?" Arya stepped forward, her lips drawn into a questioning frown.

Sascha hadn't heard in detail all of the things the girl had gone through or seen, Robb and his mother had retired with Arya to Lady Stark's room for most of the first night and day to talk over such matters. There were rumors that Sascha had caught snatches of here and there but for the most of it Sascha chose to remain ignorant until educated from the source. Sascha had gone to bed and risen both without having seen her husband or been aware of him in bed with her, though from the warm indentation she'd felt near her both mornings she'd known he had been there for at least some time. They'd only had polite conversation snatches at breakfast and dinner but aside from that, Robb remained as distant as ever to her as well. From the wary way Arya continued to study her, Sascha got the distinct feeling that this girl had seen far more than should be allowed for her age and sex. In a way it endeared the girl to Sascha more, who had also had to grow up before her time in direct connection to the horrific elements she'd had to live through, and at the hands of her own kin—namely her father.

Sascha nodded, "And why not? If he proves inept then it will be easy enough to remedy his lack with our supply of smithies in the keep at this time. As for his trustworthiness, which is perhaps what you implied by your question, I figure that if he managed to survive your own wariness, the various trials you've both no doubt have had to endure, as well as a thorough questioning that I've also no doubt my husband put him through last night," the two of them had disappeared prior to dinner with a few of Robb's bannermen while Arya had been cleaned up by her mother, "then I can trust him to try his best with my machines." Sascha turned her attention back to Gendry. "Would you care to start now or later?"

Gendry had, up to this point, remained fairly passive in expression but now, with the opportunity to work again thrust at him, Sascha saw a light enter his gaze that hadn't been there before. He began to smile at her but caught himself at the last moment and turned his gaze downwards and gave a quick nod instead. Sascha gave him a few more instructions on where he could find various items as well as the other men working on that particular machine before she left him to his own devices. As she headed towards the smithies' exit she looked over her shoulder and saw Arya hovering awkwardly in the space between Gendry and herself. The girl didn't look like she knew where to go or what to do. She'd been at Gendry's side, no doubt, every day and night for some time and now that he was employed she would also need something to do to keep occupied. Suffering from night terrors or flashbacks, if the girl was anything like Sascha had been at her age, Arya would most definitely need something intensive to keep her occupied.

"Arya," Sascha paused at the doorway to call back to her. Sascha waited until the girl turned to face her again, the expression upon her face one of wary confusion once more. "Would you care to accompany me in watching things get blown up?"

"What?" The promise of violence had the girl moving towards her even if the girl had yet to actually want to spend time her, Sascha. Sascha made eye contact with Gendry over Arya's head and nodded. She wanted him to know that she would look out for the girl when he wasn't around; the gesture on her part born out of the obvious tension the boy had had in his stance at the idea of Arya leaving without him.

Sascha led the way away from the smithies, "Yes we have a few prototypes of the lightweight cannons finished and we need to test to see how well they can do under battle-like pressure." She led them through the main gate and across the moat towards the broad field adjacent to the keep that they'd marked off for practice and training. As they'd begun testing the machines they'd also had to take the time to train an entirely new corps of soldiers within Robb's troops. In some fashion they were being promoted from mere footmen but in others they were being demoted to becoming a greater target for the enemy once on the battlefield. "Right about now, I would say," Sascha glanced up at the sun to double-check her timing, "they are going to start the first of the drills."

As if to punctuate her sentence, a loud concussive force pressed against their ears and chests and they were quickly surrounded by a cloud of acrid smoke. Sascha reached out and briefly touched Arya's shoulder to steady her when the girl tripped over a rut in the field. She withdrew her hand just as quickly, however, not wanting to overwhelm the girl with physical touch (a definite danger depending upon what she'd been exposed to). Arya didn't acknowledge the fact that Sascha helped her; her eyes were instead focused entirely upon the artillery line in front of them. She took in every detail of the men priming and loading the cannons, she listened to the yelled orders of Sascha's instructors prompting each movement, and she leapt briefly into the air when the soldiers pulled the cords to release the next volley of ballistic ammunition. Across the field the majority of the targets that had been set up were missed, this was only the third day of training for these men, but at least a half dozen were obliterated completely (thus promising some effectiveness for their strategy if the cannons were put into practice). The instructors began to yell out new orders, the soldiers that had missed attempted to correct their errors, and the process was repeated.

They remained at the training grounds until the session was completed and the cannons were effectively disassembled and stowed away again. Arya's eyes were still big as the two of them started back towards the castle. She paused just shy of the main gate, however, and glanced back at the camp where the majority of Robb's forces remained. Although the explosions had served to distract her, it was still apparent to Sascha the girl was restless and would not do well indoors.

"Do you know if your mother or brother need you for anything now?" The girl shrugged and Sascha smirked. It was almost as if she were looking into a time glass and was seeing herself when she was young again.

"Do they need you for anything?" The question had been mumbled but Sascha heard it well enough.

"Oh no, I'm quite free. Your mother, I think, has given up on attempting to keep me occupied with more 'ladylike' responsibilities and your brother is content to let me alone as I work on these machines." She gestured towards the crates the canons had been stowed away in.

"You designed those." It was a statement, at least the inflections in Arya's voice made it sound as such but Sascha replied nonetheless.

"Yes, well, everyone is talented in their own fashion I suppose. My eldest sister is an accomplished swordswoman, my eldest brother is very skilled with a bow, and one of my younger sisters paints what looks to be heaven." Sascha pointed to the crates while she gave Arya a sly smile. "My gift is machinery. I dream it the way some dream up sculptures or paintings. I think in mathematics and physics and see the relationships between force applied and force withdrawn."

Arya studied her quietly as she spoke and only waited a few moments once Sascha was done before she commented, "You're weird."

"Yes," Sascha laughed, "I am. But I hear from your brother, and your mother, that you can be quite strange yourself. Preferring bows to sewing, fencing to dancing, mud to baths." Arya began to look away, her expression turning shuttered. "I admire that spirit in any man or woman." Arya looked back to Sascha then and Sascha smiled softly at her. "The spirit of innovation and tenacity. Survival through imaginative thinking. It is a good spirit to have and from what limited exposure I've had to your family I would say that you all have it."

"Didn't help my father any."

The moment, if it could've been called a moment, was killed with the swift thrust of Arya's words and before Sascha could recover her verbal footing the girl was stomping back into the keep. From her body language it was obvious she would not welcome Sascha's presence. The girl marched past her mother as well, seemingly not having heard the woman call her name before she disappeared into the smithies. Sascha made eye contact with Lady Stark and offered the woman an empathizing smile as the latter continued her solemn approach. Lady Stark spoke before Sascha could.

"I appreciate your efforts to keep her occupied, Sascha, and I apologize for her…nature." Lady Stark looked towards the building her daughter had disappeared into. "She is so much a stranger to me now. What horrors she must've seen, what things she might have been compelled to do…" The woman cut herself off with a shake of her head before turning her gaze back to Sascha again. "Would you care to accompany me through the camp? I believe it helps foster good morale to have a Stark walk among them every day or so, talk to them, laugh or cry with them, remind them of why they are here."

Sascha nodded, "It is a noble thing to do." She fell into step beside the elder woman and waited only a few footsteps before she spoke again. "I do not mind, Arya's nature that is; to be honest, she reminds me of myself when I was her age."

"Oh?" Lady Stark observed her out of the corner of her eyes even as she turned and nodded to passersby.

"Yes, well I did not have what you could call the most positive or healthy upbringings, as I'm sure you can imagine with what rumors, as well as solid evidence, you've seen and heard about the Frey horde. My nature was often evasive and impish and I did not develop into what one might call a 'proper lady,' another fact that you by now are quite intimately acquainted with." Sascha briefly glanced down and compared Lady Stark's beautiful yet simple gown to her own makeshift leggings/dress ensemble that she wore when she was working with the smithies.

"You need not concern yourself with approval from me, regarding whether or not you are a 'proper lady.'" Lady Stark paused and turned to face Sascha fully. She was quiet as she first looked around at the tent city surrounding them but spoke again when her gaze refocused on Sascha. "We did not need such a woman for this time or place. I mean no disrespect to your sisters or family when I say this, but it served us all better that you are as you are and not as you might've been had you been raised to be a 'proper lady.'" Lady Stark reached out and took hold of one of Sascha's hands. Sascha noted that the woman's hands were ice cold even though the weather was not quite wintry yet, though there was indeed a chill. "I am trying, albeit horribly, to say Sascha, that I admire your talents and I thank you for them."

Sascha was taken aback but smiled in response and squeezed the older woman's hand as well. They had gotten a bit closer after Robb's departure, having only one another—as well as all of Sascha's family in a sense—to be with at meals and in between meals. While Lady Stark hadn't accompanied her to the smithies, she had both questioned and listened to Sascha regarding the machines whenever they had been together. Sascha had also listened to Lady Stark in the quiet hours of the evening before retiring, asking vague questions and being surprised with less-than-vague responses regarding Robb's childhood and the Stark homeland. To have her speak so openly with her now, though, was what surprised Sascha. Lady Stark was almost more close-guarded with her emotions than Robb but perhaps being reunited with her youngest had allowed a crack in her exterior guards and the portion of the kind of woman that she had been before the war was beginning to shine through.

"Thank you Lady Stark. While I never really knew what it was to have the approval and acceptance of my own mother, I can only assume that what I am feeling now would be of similar ilk."

Lady Stark flashed Sascha another smile before she let go of Sascha's hands and moved forward to greet a bannerman. Sascha made to follow the woman but stopped and stared through a corridor of tents. It had been a brief glimpse but Sascha felt for certain that she'd seen exactly what she feared she'd seen. She didn't bother excusing herself from Lady Stark's presence, the woman was neck deep in a conversation with three bannermen now, and so Sascha moved quickly down the row of tents until she came to the area she'd last glimpsed her target. Sascha turned in a slow circle, trying to figure out which way to go, but stopped again and stared when her quest was solved for her by the emergence of Talisa from the tent just across from where she stood.

Talisa didn't notice her at first but once she did she gasped and brought her hands to the front of her body, attempting to shield that which Sascha had already seen. Various satchels of herbs and bandages rolled away from Talisa's body, having earlier been clutched in her arms but lost in her movements to hide herself. There was no mistaking the roundedness of her belly, however. Talisa was with child. Sascha looked up from her belly to Talisa's face and saw the woman's eyes shimmer with unshed tears. Sascha couldn't imagine what it was she might be feeling right now: fear, hatred, confusion, disgust…perhaps all of the above? Sascha bent down and began to pick up the items Talisa dropped.

"Where are you headed with these?" She glanced up at Talisa as she finished retrieving the items.

Talisa shook her head and reached for them, "I can manage on my own."

"I know you can," Sascha stood up to her full height, a bit above Talisa's head, and held the items firmly in her arms, "however I would like to accompany you."

Talisa's eyes narrowed and she stood with her back straight as she stared at Sascha, no doubt attempting to gage Sascha's intentions. Sascha was not about to budge however, nor let the woman escape her, and would willingly chase her down the row of tents if need be. Talisa was smart in realizing this and so after a moment more of contemplation she gestured back in the direction she'd come from and partially led Sascha further away from Lady Stark and deeper into the tent city. Neither of them spoke as they walked but Sascha did notice how Talisa walked somewhat hunched over, in a feeble attempt to use her quite loose fitting garments to further disguise her belly. The sight of such antics fueled Sascha's frustrations, however, and she quickly looked away. She didn't quite know herself what she was doing here now, with this woman, at this time, but she needed to know…something. She just didn't quite know what it was she was looking for or hoping to hear.

They arrived at one of the many tents set aside for the wounded and Sascha aided Talisa in resupplying the surgical area of the tent. This done, Talisa led them back out of the larger tent and further down the rows until she came to another, her own private tent. Once inside Talisa poured Sascha a drink and with shaking hands, Sascha noted, handed it across to Sascha.

"What is it that you want with me?" Talisa broke the silence before Sascha even had a chance to drink from her cup. She admired the forthrightness of the woman and could see how that, coupled with her beauty, would be so enrapturing to her husband.

"Does he know of your condition?" Sascha would reward forthrightness with her own.

Talisa looked away, her earlier resolve seeming to falter slightly. "No."

"Are you going to tell him?"

Talisa looked back to Sascha, shock and what looked to be anger upon her face. "Are you going to tell him?"

"Lady Talisa," Sascha set aside her cup, "I mean no disrespect in talking to you now," Talisa looked away again and Sascha noticed the woman began to clench her fists at her sides, "if you are indeed carrying the King of the North's child then he should know about it so that proper procedures may be done."

Talisa's gaze returned to Sascha and her eyes widened. "What do you mean?"

"We both know my union with the King was not made out of mutual affection and that if it hadn't been for a bridge that he would've married you." Talisa continued to stare at Sascha, the shock and confusion not going away from her expression. Wariness now crept in, however, and so Sascha quickly continued. "I am not ignorant of the type of relationship he had with you prior to this, and sad to say neither is nearly everyone in this camp or within the walls of that castle." She gestured behind her towards the keep. Talisa had the decency to look towards the floor, albeit briefly, in the face of such honesty. "Therefore, it would be in the best interest of yourself and the child that you carry that you declare your condition to the King to ensure your safety and that of the child's. You know that Robb is an honorable man, hell he very plainly informed me that he would look after your welfare from now until his death," Sascha winced at how honest she was being, knowing that perhaps she shouldn't be this honest with the woman who was, for all intents and purposes, her rival for the affections of her husband. It couldn't be helped, however, not now that there was an innocent's life at stake. She would not condemn a child out of pettiness. "That is how I know that should he be made aware of your condition now, that you would be looked after, as is fitting for your station and condition."

"And what station is that?" Talisa sniffed, the tears that had threatened to fall earlier again shimmering in her beautiful eyes—damn but the woman was beautiful. "The king's pregnant whore? What do you care, Lady Sascha, what happens to me or the child I carry?" The blatant lack of correct terminology regarding Sascha's place in the hierarchy of things did not work to frustrate her; in fact, it further made her pity Talisa. She had nothing now, nothing except bitterness and spite.

"You made the decision to lie with the King," Sascha did not hold back her words but she spoke them without malice, "and now you literally bear the results of that decision. Men are lucky, are they not, in that they do not suffer the consequences to the same degree as women?" She shook her head, this was no time to philosophize on such matters. "However, I would be terribly hypocritical if I pointed fingers at you and him and decried your actions as beyond redemption. My family is made up of bastards, Lady Talisa, but every bastard is recognized as a Frey and included in the family tree. I cannot count all my siblings, to be honest with you, because a new one seems to come along every year, however I know quite well that they are all utilized in the grand scheme of the futhership of the Frey name." The utilization may not always be positive or fair, but this wasn't the time to talk about that either. "The child you carry is a Stark and if there was ever a family that needed an heir it would be the Stark family now. They have lost so much, as you are aware, and are still attempting to regain only a portion of what they once had. The knowledge that you carry within you the next generation of the Stark line could bolster the spirits of a King worried over the fates of his siblings and his kingdom and of a king-mother who fears the loss of her children, including that of her son the King."

Talisa stared at her silence, her cheeks now wet with the tears she'd once tried to hold back. Sascha shifted on her feet, uncomfortable with the intensity of the woman's stares. She would rather Talisa yell at her or something instead of staring at her with the semi-dead looking expression that she had now. Sascha clapped her hands together, startling both of them with the sound, and rubbed her palms back and forth. She'd been idle too long, this situation had gotten too strange, and she desperately needed to get back to work—if only to keep from over-thinking the great strangeness that was now her life.

"I will not tell the king, nor anyone else, about your condition. For now. I will give you a week to decide if you will tell him or if I will tell him. However, in the end the king will know." Talisa's fists began to clench again. "I do not mean to sound threatening but you are carrying the son of a king and it is the honorable and fair thing to do."

"And if I decide not to tell him?" Talisa held her head up high and straightened her shoulders. "If I decide to leave?"

Sascha didn't mean to but she laughed and immediately covered her mouth with her hands. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to." She swallowed the rest of her amusement. "Lady Talisa, where could you go where you or the child would be safe and where the child could have some semblance of a good future? You have little choice in the matter, as I see it, and I tend to look at things from a realistic and logical perspective. If you can come up with a better option then by all means do so, but still Robb will know that you are carrying his child and that somewhere out there, should you choose to leave, his child is growing up without him." Talisa's bravado vanished and her shoulders slunk. "You know that would kill him."

Talisa looked away and did not offer up anything else to say, in agreement or disagreement. Sascha sighed. There was nothing more she could do here. She looked back to the woman in front of her and wondered if it would matter to give her a customary parting remark but from the looks of it, Talisa had already dismissed Sascha. She left without saying anything further and quickly made her way back to the area she'd left Lady Stark in. To her dismay, the woman was not to be found and Sascha knew that she'd have to come up with some excuse as to why she'd left as she had.

She was far from saved from her mental dilemma when she heard her name called and looked over her shoulder to see none other than Robb walking towards her from the interior of the camp. Sascha closed her eyes and imagined herself far away, back on Royce Island, surrounded by the vast library her previous husband's family had developed over generations. Robb called her name again and Sascha sighed. Surely her day couldn't get any worse. She opened her eyes and gave Robb what she hoped was a welcoming smile.

"My mother was looking for you." Robb commented once he was close enough to speak without yelling. "She said you'd disappeared while she was talking with Lord Umber's cousins."

Sascha nodded, "Yes, I thought I saw someone I knew from the days I was with Lord Royce," at the rare mentioning of her previous husband Robb's face grew shuttered and she hoped that it was enough to throw him off the "scent" of why it was she'd really gone missing, "and I went trailing after them without paying attention to which way I was going and then I found myself near the healing tents," when he again looked like she'd stepped on his toes she mentally kicked herself; of course he'd associate the healing tents with Talisa. She was quickly mucking this up. "I decided to visit with some of the men there and then I lost track of time and now I'm here." Her voice was entirely too light sounding, even to her own ears, and she hated the fact that she wasn't a very good liar. "Where is your mother? I feel I should I apologize for abandoning her."

"That won't be necessary," Robb gestured for her to fall into step with him as he continued on his journey back towards the keep, "she assumed, and fairly correctly, that you'd had a legitimate reason for disappearing so quickly and without warning."

Sascha waited only a moment before she spoke again, fearing that if she stayed silent too long he'd ask for more details about who it was she thought she'd seen and why he'd be among Robb's bannermen, "How goes the war council? Any news on where you should go next or on the movements of the Lannister's and their allies?"

Robb replied by pulling a letter out of his coat and handing it to her, explaining its contents to her even as she unrolled it to read as they kept walking, "I received this early this morning. It seems that King Joffrey not only grew tired of my sister as his intended but, not wanting to lose a chance to further insult us, he married Margery Tyrell of Highgarden and decided to wed Sansa off to his uncle, the imp."

Sascha scanned the letter for herself then looked back to Robb once she finished, "All this done within the week of the last communication with King's Landing? Why so sudden?"

"Not 'why him?'" Robb looked at her strangely.

Sascha shrugged, "I've met Lord Tyrion many times and while he may be physically disfigured by birth, and now also by battle, he never treated me with any ill will. From my observations of his behavior while at court, he appeared to be the only sane noble there. He had no time for the pontification or gilded flattery that is wont to occur at court." She rolled up the parchment and handed it back to Robb. "Skilled as a serpent in the ways of court, yes, and a Lannister of course, but I never heard any rumors or saw any evidence of cruelty or ignoble actions while I was there."

"So you're saying I should be thankful that my sister was forced to marry Lord tyrion instead of Joffrey?"

"Well, perhaps, yes." Sascha shook her head. "Joffrey is mad with power and has been poisoned into wanton acts of barbarity by his mother and others like her. He is an unchecked menace that would have only tortured and killed your sister, if he hasn't done a small portion of that already." She watched Robb's face twist into a grimacing frown. She couldn't help but reach out and lay a comforting hand on his shoulder in response. They'd stopped walking during their discussion and now stood in a small clearing between the tent camp and the main road that led back into the keep. The sun had begun to set in the sky and the darkening hues of orange and red only served to make Robb's hair a deeper shade of auburn. Sascha felt a sudden, and uncommon, urge to touch his hair, to initiate a type of intimacy that should not be uncommon between spouses. She resisted the urge, however, with a quick reminder of who exactly it had been she'd seen only prior to meeting Robb and it was the image of Talisa's rounded belly that had her withdrawing her hand and clasping it together with her other in front of her body. "I do not believe that Lord tyrion, as I knew him, would press your sister into doing anything she did not want to do."

"And how would you know this? How can you believe this from the little you know of him?" Robb moved his gaze past her shoulder towards the sunset where King's Landing would be if he could see it.

"Lord Tyrion and I shared something, call it a bond forged by those who were seen as unwanted or expendable. It is no secret that Lord Frey favors his sons over his daughters and it was well gossiped about that I was practically sold to Lord Royce's father for a handsome enough price. That my husband turned out to be a decent man who treated me fairly is a miracle, however that didn't change how it was we came together." Sascha realized, as she was speaking, that this was the most forthright she'd ever been with Robb about her husband Robar. Granted, Robb never asked about her relationship with Robar and had never pressed her for information about her past in any way. Of course, they'd been together so rarely there hadn't been time even if he'd wanted to. Perhaps it was because she'd spent the day being forthright with damn near everyone she'd come across, and that was why she was taking the time, or wasting the time, in telling him all this now. For his part, Robb continued to appear to listen at least and made no show of looking impatient or eager to move on. "In any case, Lord Tyrion, when we did have the occasion to socialize with one another, recognized a kindred spirit, of sorts, in myself and my husband. We stood out, as did he, for our lack of participation in much of what occurred while at court. I can assure you for this: Lord tyrion is well acquainted with pain and with the sting of rejection and betrayal; I do believe in marrying your sister, he will be careful with her in a way that no one was careful with him."

Robb continued to study her even after her words died away and then his eyes shifted over her shoulder again and this time Sascha turned to take in the sight of the last of the sun dipping below the horizon.

"I overheard our old septa once," Robb stepped forward to stand directly beside Sascha as they continued to watch the light change together, "tell my sisters that right before the sun completely disappeared from sight that it would send out a flash of green light up to the moon in a promise that it would return soon, relieving the moon of its nightly duties." The sun disappeared and perhaps she imagined it but there did seem to be a very faint beam of green that flashed ever so briefly through the sky. Sascha looked back to Robb, suddenly aware of how close he was now that she could spot a few freckles on the bridge of his nose. He too turned his head to look at her. He studied her silently for a time before he spoke again, "I hope that your assessment of Lord tyrion is accurate and that my sister is safer in his hands than she otherwise would be in King's Landing."

Sascha was the first to shift her weight on her feet and begin the walk back towards the keep. The evening meal would begin soon.

"Have they made further demands for Lord Jamie?"

"Yes and coupled with the news of my sister I've a mind to send them a hand back for their answer." Robb's voice was grave when he responded and took Sascha by surprise, considering how almost tender he'd been just moments before.

"That sounds a bit on the reactive side." Sascha smiled at Robb's glare. "I mean I understand why you might want to dismember the closest Lannister you can find but might that not induce them to send you a similar present?"

"I wasn't truly going to do it, Sascha." Robb sighed but all Sascha heard was the fact that he'd said her name and she couldn't for the life of her remember the last time he'd actually said her name. "I just said that I wanted to. There is a difference between what you might want to do and what you should do." He preceded her into the keep then and Sascha hovered just at the main gateway. For a moment her eyes were drawn back towards the camp, where the night fires were already light making the tent city look like a reflection of the starry sky. Yes, there was indeed a difference, but it seemed that for some, that lesson may have been learned too late.

* * *

Startling Revelations: Robb

Robb looked out the window of the room he'd commandeered as his own for council purposes. He was alone, the war council had adjourned only moment before. From where he stood now he had a clear view of the soldiers as they set up the lightweight cannons for the training session they had planned for that afternoon. Since his return, he'd been surprised and more than satisfied with the amount of work that Sascha and her smithies and instructors had managed to do while he'd been away gathering supplies, and inadvertently rescuing his sister. Robb frowned. It was strange, to say the least, to have his youngest sister back and yet not know her anymore. It had taken his mother and he a day and a half to get as much as they had out of her in regards to what had happened to her since their father's death, and he had a sinking suspicion that she still hadn't told them the whole of it. Robb felt his stomach churn, and not for the first time, at the knowledge of all that his sister had had to endure and he'd been powerless to prevent any of it.

He supposed he should be grateful that she'd fallen in with the Gendry fellow, and yet he still didn't quite trust the lad. Yes, he'd been more forthright with Robb and his mother, as well as a good representative gathering of his bannermen, when they'd pulled the lad aside for a full retelling of events as Gendry saw them. And yet, Robb did not feel satisfied in the knowledge that Gendry would willingly sacrifice himself for Arya. What were the boy's motives after all? He was a blacksmith on the run from King's Landing. Robb's spies had informed him that the men who had captured Gendry and Arya had wanted Gendry specifically, for connections to someone or something, though they hadn't pinpointed what. Until Robb knew what that was, as well as why the lad seemed so familiar, he would not rest easy with the lad around his sister. He knew better than to try to separate them immediately, for the good or bad of it they had been through much together, but that did not stop him from assigning a man or two to keep an eye on them as they wandered the castle grounds.

He was just about to turn away from the window when he caught sight of a familiar head of unruly auburn hair. It was Arya walking alongside Sascha. They were walking towards the testing area but stopped when the soldiers released the first volley of shots. He saw Arya stumble, perhaps in surprise, but Sascha was quick to steady her, though she withdrew her hand just as quickly. They looked odd, the pair of them, standing as they were at the edge of the testing ground. Sascha was once more wearing one of her odd outfits, that he'd actually grown to appreciate more than whenever she wore dresses; it served as a reminder that she was as much of a contributor and supporter of his cause as any one of his bannermen. Arya was still clad in trousers and a loose fitting tunic, though at least these were clean and she didn't look as feral as she had when he'd first found her. He could tell, even from this distance, that Arya was transfixed by the spectacle before her. Perhaps that had been why Sascha brought her there, to occupy her mind away from more disquieting thoughts of what she'd lived through.

Robb crossed his arms over his chest, one hand coming up to scratch lightly as his growing beard. He continued to study Sascha. She was watching both the soldiers as well as Arya, only revealing her face to Robb's sight whenever she turned to look at his sister. Though he was yet a ways off, he could see the look of concentrated concern on her face. It warmed his heart, the knowledge that she seemed to be as concerned over the physical and mental welfare of his sister as he. His wife had proven herself valuable time and time again, both as an inventor as well as a general support to cause, and yet he couldn't quite figure out where they were to go from here. While the war was serving as a strange bonding element between them, it only brought together their mutual desires to end the war—as well as her desire to be taken seriously as an inventor, which he very much did so now that he could clearly see the destruction her machines could incur when utilized properly. Whenever they spoke to each other it was only ever over elements of the war or her machines and since he'd returned their interactions had dwindled even further as she mostly occupied with her machines and he with the war councils. Even at night they shared no form of intimacy, aside from sharing a bed. By the time he'd retire she'd already be abed, her heavy breathing and lack of shifting in her sleep telltale of her exhaustion from her work. He'd soon join her in sleep and would be lost to any knowledge of movement while abed.

Oddly enough, however, Robb found that on both mornings since he'd returned he'd been the one curled up beside her, near holding her in his arms, upon awaking. The first time it'd happened he'd nearly rolled onto the floor in surprise, a strange fear coming into his throat that she'd been aware of their near-intimacy—though he still didn't understand why he would fear that. But when he'd stood by the bed and looked back down at her she'd kept on sleeping, her mouth gaping open and her head tipped at an odd angle now that it wasn't resting on his shoulder. He'd smiled then, finding her lack of grace in both sleep and wakefulness to be amusing, and had repositioned the pillow under her head before readying himself for the day. The second time it'd happened, just that morning, he'd been a bit slower in extricating himself. The weather was turning colder, the mornings especially, that was what he'd told himself then and what he told himself now, and that was why he'd been sluggish in pulling away from her warmth. She really did produce a lot of heat while in bed. She'd rolled in the direction of his departure and he'd again stood by the side of the bed watching her for a moment as she slept on. She was not a beauty in comparison to most women, but Robb couldn't help but notice now that her nose though straight and regal was marred with a few freckles from sun exposure, her brow was wide and framed well by her thick chestnut-colored hair, and her lips were full—and whenever he didn't displease her he did notice that her tendency was to smile more than frown. Perhaps her beauty grew with the knowledge of her capabilities, as well as her general strength of character, a miraculous thing to have considering her relations.

Bringing his idle thoughts back from their nonproductive wandering he watched Arya leave Sascha, the looks upon both their faces testimony that it hadn't been a pleasant parting. Arya fled into the smithies while he watched as his mother joined Sascha. The sight of his mother reminded him of the letters he'd received just that morning. Robb turned from the window then and went back to the desk where the letter lay. It seemed that Tywin's forces were still gathering together just north of King's Landing and would be on the move towards the Twins within a few days' time, and there were reports of Iron Born ships being on the prowl off the coast in northern waters, making the necessity to return north in order to bring peace to the province again even more imminent. Jon had also sent a letter from the Wall, surprising Robb that it'd even made it to him, detailing what should be impossible things occurring with the Wildlings and other darker forces north of the Wall. Considering the situation they were in now, Robb found himself believing the reports from Jon but he also knew that he couldn't abandon his quest now that they were so close: to avenging the death of his father, securing his sister's freedom, and severing the ties of the North with King's Landing so long as the Lannister's maintained illegitimate control of it.

Robb rolled up the last letter he'd received that morning and went in search of his mother. She'd been privy to the other letters but had not yet heard reports of this one. He did not look forward to telling her about it. Yet knowing that he could tell her of it with Sascha nearby somehow made the prospect look less horrid. When he found his mother in the central area of the camp outside the city walls, however, Sascha had not been with her. She hadn't known where Sascha had disappeared to but had noticed the pained look upon Robb's face. He hadn't been able to postpone telling her of the letter's contents and had had to deal with his distraught, and disgusted, mother all on his own. She'd left him in search of a place to pray, though there were no godswood's nearby, and Robb couldn't fault her. The news had been dire indeed.

He was on his way back towards the castle in hopes of finding either Arya or Sascha when he saw her, Sascha, just ahead of him. He called to her and she stopped, looking over her shoulder at him. He watched as it seemed her whole body tensed and swayed slightly. He didn't need to be a maester to see that she was upset about something, though he doubted it was wholly because she'd seen him. They hadn't felt animosity towards one another since their marriage negotiation and if he had to risk saying it he'd even venture to say that they were amiable towards one another. Not quite friends but most decidedly not enemies. Robb drew closer, watching as she opened her eyes and gave him a faltering smile, but waited until he was close enough to speak without yelling before he spoke again.

"My mother was looking for you." Sascha's face twisted into a grimace as he spoke, a feat he found very unusual for her. "She said you'd disappeared while she was talking with Lord Umber's cousins."

Sascha nodded, "Yes, I thought I saw someone I knew from the days I was with Lord Royce," at the rare mentioning of her previous husband Robb's face grew shuttered; he didn't hold the man in any ill regard, really, but the reminder that she'd been married before bothered him for some strange reason. Sascha continued speaking, "and I went trailing after them without paying attention to which way I was going and then I found myself near the healing tents," Robb felt cold all over. Could she have seen Talisa while at the healing tents? Truth be told, he hadn't seen Talisa since the wedding, though at times he'd wanted to seek her out again if only to see her smile and hear her voice; he knew they could do no more than that now that he'd been sworn to Sascha but it hadn't stopped his dreams of Talisa or his desires for her. He'd satisfied his desires for her wellbeing with reports as to Talisa's general health and whereabouts from the men he'd assigned to her for protection, though Talisa would not have realized she was being watched or protected; she'd never have accepted that gesture and he'd not felt the need to tell Sascha about it either. Robb refocused his gaze back on Sascha, realizing then that he'd missed part of her explanation but came to just enough to catch her question, "Where is your mother? I feel I should I apologize for abandoning her."

"That won't be necessary," Robb gestured for her to fall into step with him as he continued on his journey back towards the keep, "she assumed, and fairly correctly, that you'd had a legitimate reason for disappearing so quickly and without warning."

Sascha seemed anxious still, another sign that something was amiss with either the tale she'd told him about her whereabouts before or something else had happened. Robb was just about to ask about her health when she broke the silence, "How goes the war council? Any news on where you should go next or on the movements of the Lannister's and their allies?"

Robb saw an image of his mother's tears from the conversation they'd had just prior to running into Sascha and he replied by pulling the letter out of his coat and handing it to her, explaining its contents to her even as she unrolled it to read for herself, "I received this early this morning. It seems that King Joffrey not only grew tired of my sister as his intended but, not wanting to lose a chance to further insult us, he married Margery Tyrell of Highgarden and decided to wed Sansa off to his uncle, the imp." Robb nearly spat out the last of his sentence, the images in his mind so grotesque that his stomach churned.

Sascha remained silent until she finished reading the letter, "All this done within the week of the last communication with King's Landing? Why so sudden?"

Robb stopped and looked at Sascha, surprise apparent on his face,"Not 'why him?'"

He watched as Sascha shrugged, her eyes traveling between the letter in her hand and his face, "I've met Lord Tyrion many times and while he may be physically disfigured by birth, and now also by battle, he never treated me with any ill will. From my observations of his behavior while at court, he appeared to be the only sane noble there. He had no time for the pontification or gilded flattery that is wont to occur at court." She rolled up the parchment and handed it back to Robb. "Skilled as a serpent in the ways of court, yes, and a Lannister of course, but I never heard any rumors or saw any evidence of cruelty or ignoble actions while I was there." Robb was surprised with just how much he'd just been given, in regards to glimpsing what his wife's life had been prior to their meeting, in just a few sentences just then. He made sure to pay close attention to the details of her words for further perusal later on when he was alone.

"So you're saying I should be thankful that my sister was forced to marry Lord Tyrion instead of Joffrey?" Robb was still trying to figure out where Sascha was going with her words.

"Well, perhaps, yes." Sascha shook her head. "Joffrey is mad with power and has been poisoned into wanton acts of barbarity by his mother and others like her. He is an unchecked menace that would have only tortured and killed your sister, if he hasn't done a small portion of that already." Robb felt another wave of nausea and anger rush through him with a chilling after affect. He nearly jumped when he felt Sascha lay her hand on his shoulder. They didn't often touch one another, aside from his apparent touches in his sleep just prior to waking in the morn, and so Robb was fairly surprised by her gesture. It wasn't unpleasant, he found, and after the initial surprise he found himself wondering why it was they didn't touch each other more often, as was perfectly acceptable and fitting between husband and wife. It seemed that something serious was being contemplated in Sascha's mind, and he watched as her expression changed from one of open sympathy to one more guarded. She withdrew her hand, and it seemed also herself, and clasped her hands together in front of her body. "I do not believe that Lord Tyrion, as I knew him, would press your sister into doing anything she did not want to do."

Robb raised his eyebrows at her statement, "And how would you know this? How can you believe this from the little you know of him?" Robb then moved his gaze past her shoulder towards the sunset where King's Landing would be if he could see it.

"Lord Tyrion and I shared something, call it a bond forged by those who were seen as unwanted or expendable." Robb looked back to her then, the desire to understand her fully prompting him to shift slightly closer to her as the remained standing in the clearing. "It is no secret that Lord Frey favors his sons over his daughters and it was well gossiped about that I was practically sold to Lord Royce's father for a handsome enough price. That my husband turned out to be a decent man who treated me fairly is a miracle, however that didn't change how it was we came together." Robb was stunned with Sascha's words. He hadn't known the details of how Sascha had married her previous husband, and to his shame he'd never made an effort to know. The realization, now, that she'd been sold to Lord Royce in much the same way that she'd been sold to him had Robb loathing Walder Frey that much more, as well as himself, if he were being completely honest. "In any case, Lord Tyrion, when we did have the occasion to socialize with one another, recognized a kindred spirit, of sorts, in myself and my husband. We stood out, as did he, for our lack of participation in much of what occurred while at court. I can assure you for this: Lord Tyrion is well acquainted with pain and with the sting of rejection and betrayal; I do believe in marrying your sister, he will be careful with her in a way that no one was careful with him."

There appeared to be no ulterior motive in her telling him these things, and her face and voice had betrayed no lack of genuineness in the retelling either. Robb continued to study her even after her words died away, confused as to how the fates would've brought him a woman like this to be his wife. She had already seen so much of the world and of life, and that was not just in regards to the fact that she was his elder in years. He felt he could trust her judgment, her sincerity, and he wanted to trust in her hope as well. Robb shifted his gaze over her shoulder again and this time Sascha turned to take in the sight of the last of the sun dipping below the horizon.

"I overheard our old septa once," Robb stepped forward to stand directly beside Sascha as they continued to watch the light change together, "tell my sisters that right before the sun completely disappeared from sight that it would send out a flash of green light up to the moon in a promise that it would return soon, relieving the moon of its nightly duties." The sun disappeared and perhaps he imagined it but there did seem to be a very faint beam of green that flashed ever so briefly through the sky. Sascha looked back to Robb, and he was suddenly aware of how close she was now that he could clearly see that her brown eyes had flecks of gold in them. "I hope that your assessment of Lord Tyrion is accurate and that my sister is safer in his hands than she otherwise would be in King's Landing."

While he felt he could be content to continue standing as they were, sharing whatever it was in this moment that bade him stay, Sascha was the first to shift her weight on her feet and begin the walk back towards the keep. He realized then that the evening meal would begin soon.

"Have they made further demands for Lord Jamie?"

Robb sighed before replying, "Yes and coupled with the news of my sister I've a mind to send them a hand back for their answer."

"That sounds a bit on the reactive side." Robb shot her a glare and she only smiled in response. "I mean I understand why you might want to dismember the closest Lannister you can find but might that not induce them to send you a similar present?"

Robb sighed again, "I wasn't truly going to do it, Sascha." When he looked at her again she had an odd look on her face but he continued speaking, "I just said that I wanted to. There is a difference between what you might want to do and what you should do." While he wanted to reach out and touch her shoulder in a similar fashion to how she'd touched his, he refrained and preceded her into the keep instead. He glanced over his shoulder to see her gazing back towards the camp outside the castle walls. He also looked towards the camp, curious as to how Talisa was faring. His gaze returned to the profile of his wife and he smiled before continuing on into the great hall.


	6. The Last Push

The Last Push: Sascha

The week of preparations had almost passed when they received the letters. The series of letters detailed so many events that it was difficult for them all to take in all at once. An invasion in King's Landing. Joffrey's head on a spike. The Lannister children and their mother imprisoned, seemingly for their own protection. And the disappearance of Tyrion Lannister and Sansa Stark-Lannister from King's Landing. The Lannister forces were now fighting on two sides: against the Northmen and against the Dragon-riding Khaleesi Daenerys Targaryen.

One letter had been from Tywin Lannister, not exactly asking for an alliance against the Targaryen forces but it had been implied, almost demanded. Robb burnt the letter. A second letter had been from Ser Jorah Mormont, one of the leading council members for the Khaleesi. It had also not exactly been a request for an alliance but more of a statement that an enemy of the Khaleesi would burn in dragon fire but any who showed no mercy to the Khaleesi's enemies would be considered a friend. Robb had replied to the letter with an equally strong statement that once the Lannister's had been suppressed there were fires in the north that needed tending and that dragon fire would work quite well for such an endeavor. The third letter had been from a Lord Varys and though cryptic it had offered some form of relief in regards to the whereabouts of Tyrian and Sansa: they were at least not dead. The fourth letter had been from Jon Snow, Robb's half-brother at the Wall. His letter had been, in Sascha's opinion, the most disturbing. He'd written of more wildling attacks, news of the Greyjoy's retreating from a ruined Winterfell with the Bolton's setting up their own kingdom (no longer loyal to the Starks), as well as further unrest amongst the men of the Black, and whispers of inhuman things wandering through the woods beyond the Wall. She kept to herself her misgivings about Jon's letter and instead refocused her attention on the tasks at hand.

Their next offensive would be the final push in their war in the south, Robb stated. The Lannister's and their allies couldn't maintain the fight on two sides for long and if he wanted to incur the soon-to-be Iron Throne Queen's favor he would need to strike now. Sascha had well understood this strategy before Robb had informed the councilmembers and had equally pushed her men to finish all the weapons and training ahead of schedule. She knew that if she could hold up her end of the bargain that it would bode well not only for Robb but also for herself—as any benefit to Robb was now a benefit to herself. She hadn't been disappointed; in fact, when she'd shown him the finished products and demonstrated a few of them, he'd actually hugged her. Sascha tried to keep the memory of his body voluntarily pressed against hers, his laughter so close to her ears, a realistic and distant memory—but it was difficult to say the least. She knew that inside, whether she liked it or not, she'd begun to soften towards the man.

Their marriage was indeed a strange one. In these few months of marriage when Robb had been at the Twins with her they'd continued to spend their nights pouring over her schematics and on most nights he'd made her privy to his planned campaign movements, seeking her council on where best to employ her weapons. In retrospect, Sascha realized, it had been their wedding night when it had started; that had been the moment she'd begun to see her husband as a man and not an overgrown wolf-pup. In the days and nights to follow, she'd grown to respect him as man and king and could see why it was he had so many loyal subjects, fighting what many had thought to be a lost cause so far from home. Now with the Khaleesi's forces pressing northward and the Stark forces moving south, it was only a matter of time before they could all return home—and Sascha could finally be away from the oppressive Frey lands.

Robb didn't merely include her in his campaign talks, however. Ever since Arya's arrival, he'd begun to speak to her about his sister. Sascha knew well enough that Robb mostly spoke to his mother about the younger Stark girl, but there had been times prior to their retiring for the night that Robb had asked a question or two from Sascha. Her advice had so far been readily accepted and in most cases applied to the situation—it seemed that Robb had a concurring opinion that Sascha understood Arya as a kindred spirit of sorts and so Sascha's insight was therefore invaluable. He had yet to offer up a positive opinion towards Arya's close friendship with Gendry but Sascha had managed to dampen Robb's misgivings with her positive reports of Gendry's work on the weapons as well as his steadfastness of character, even in the face of Arya's tempting presence.

Sascha was not blind. It was obvious that Gendry saw Arya as more than a friend. He may not have readily admitted it to himself yet, and he certainly hadn't admitted it to anyone else, but to Sascha's age-wizened eyes she could see the beginnings of a flirtatious attraction manifesting between the two. Arya was oblivious to Gendry's attraction. It was interesting, however also a bit saddening, to see Arya instinctively respond as a female would to a male's attentions and yet fight against those instincts like a caged wolf. Her body had filled out to healthier proportions since she'd been with them at the Twins, Gendry's as well, and it would take a blind fool to not see the Stark beauty beneath the occasional—well usual—grime that accumulated upon Arya's features. She still insisted upon training with her sword and Robb had granted Arya's request that Lady Brienne train her—much to Lady Stark's chagrin, though she had acquiesced in the end once Robb reminded her of how much worse it could have been for Arya had she not had the little training she did prior to her escape from King's Landing. She still had yet to fully open up about all that she'd seen in her journey from King's Landing to Harrenhall, but at least she seemed less agitated and wild now that the Lady Brienne was training her and she was free to continue her friendship with Gendry—though Sascha was always careful to keep a close watch on the amount of time they spent alone, not wanting them to push themselves into a tempting corner without meaning to.

As for her own tempting corners, of the lack thereof, with their companionable silences in between councils and evening meetings, as well as what seemed to be mutual respect for each other's capabilities, Sascha was not blind to the fact that her husband sought after her mind and not her body. While she could clearly distinguish the features of her husband that made him an attractive catch—his strength of body, courage of heart, and sly yet sometimes soft smiles—she did not allow herself to fall into the illusion of wedded bliss. Her sisters had teasingly asked her about her life with her husband, namely their sex life, but she'd thus far managed to elude their questions. If her father or brothers wondered about it, they surprisingly kept their questions to themselves. Perhaps it was because Robb appeared to be fulfilling his husbandly duties in public, and they had indeed developed a companionable relationship that others could clearly discern, and that was what kept her family and others from inquiring. Arya would never have asked questions about this sort of thing and Sascha knew Lady Stark was too proper to venture into a conversation about it either.

Sascha was, for the most part, content with these arrangements, especially since she had no interest or use for a man still in love with another. The week was coming to a close and Sascha felt the burden of knowledge cinching in tighter on her throat. Robb would leave in the morning and Sascha had yet to hear from Lady Talisa. Would Talisa approach Robb prior to his departure or would she remain silent? Would it be pertinent of her to tell Robb of his coming fatherhood right before he marched off to fight, or would that prove more detrimental?

These thoughts were what kept Sascha from sleeping deeply. It was in the pre-dawn hours, and Sascha awoke from her fitful sleep to the feeling of her husband pressed close behind her. While at first she thought nothing of this and tried to fall back asleep—he had gotten into the habit of unknowingly sleeping close to her in the night for warmth, though there had been a few near-repeats of her head-hitting episode because of that. Her body became unable to relax when she suddenly felt her husband's hand rest hotly against her hip, the heavy presence slowly moving up and down her side until without warning he leaned forward and cupped her intimately between her legs and pulled her against him.

Sascha gasped and immediately clenched her fists into the sheets of their bed when she felt his arousal press against the small of her back. She didn't want to look over her shoulder and see his face, to gage his intentions, but curiosity got the better of her. While Robb had begun to rock himself slowly against her, his hand mimicking the movement between her legs, Sascha gritted her teeth against the both unwanted yet pleasurable sensations, and looked backwards. She was shocked, and more than a little angered, by the fact that her husband appeared to be doing these things in his sleep.

She opened her mouth to awaken him but then stopped. Did she truly want him to wake up like this? What would it do to their relationship, for as strange as it was? Thus far she'd not once given him any indication of sexual interest, and she, as far as she knew, had never received a look or a feeling from him that he felt such towards her. The few times they had touched had been in an amiable way and far from sexually intimate. And the times she'd wakened with him holding her or sleeping close had also not been sexual in nature. If he woke up now, doing these things to her, Sascha feared that what they'd managed to create between them, a relationship based entirely off of mutual respect and trust in each other's capabilities, would be thrown off kilter. Then he would leave without them being able to repair any lost ground.

Robb rolled forward again, this time his face coming to rest in the crook of her neck, forcing Sascha to turn her head forward to avoid bumping noses. She pulled her lips inward and squeezed her eyes shut. The contrast of her body enjoying the attention while her mind was wrapped up with the worries of possible repercussions was enough to give her a headache. Robb's hips shifted downwards and she felt him move himself against the crease of her rear, his hand between her legs increasing in pressure and speed to match his hips. Her body, traitorous as it was, had begun to respond to his touches and she tried to fight the urge to press herself against him in return.

Because of his tournament injury, Robar had never been able to perform fully his husbandly duties. There had been a few times, after the initial awkward adjustment period of their first years of marriage, when they'd shared near-intimate moments. But those moments had never reached completion, either because Robar would pull back, ashamed that he could not act fully as a man and husband to her, or because she would pull back, aware that the pressure her desires put on Robar only caused him emotional discomfort. She never wanted to cause him any discomfort. The man had been so good to her, encouraging her research and inventions, serving as a protector against those who would otherwise mock and belittle her, and providing the perfect environment in which she could heal from the horrors of her childhood and develop into the capable and confident woman that she was now. When she'd told Robb that she wasn't a blushing virgin in their initial "negotiations" about their marriage she'd been truthful in that she wasn't the blushing type. However, as to her virginity…she was untouched but not unaware of what sort of pleasure a man could bring a woman. What she'd experienced with Robar, as brief as it had been, had been enough of a promising touch to assure her that there was much more to be shared between husband and wife.

When Sascha felt Robb's lips press a hot, wet kiss against her neck, she gave up, momentarily, and relinquished to her body control instead of her mind. Her hips pressing against him in time with his own prompted the hand between her legs to travel upwards to cup her breast, his lips still finding purchase against her neck. Sascha had taken to biting her lips to keep from moaning when his hand cupped her breast, his fingers—even in his sleep—expertly circling around her nipple and tugging it into hardness. She clenched her fists harder against the sheets to keep herself from reaching back and touching him as her body screamed at her to do. She both hoped for this to end at the same time that she wished it could be real and continue.

His hips had increased in rhythm and just as quickly and suddenly as it'd all begun she felt his body stiffen, moistness pooling against her nightdress, and his voice whispered a name against her neck. Sascha felt dirty then, her burning desire to flee their bedchambers and cleanse herself in the river near maddening. She couldn't be certain, his voice had been muffled against her neck and garbled through his moan of pleasure, but it had not sounded like her name that he'd whispered before rolling over and falling back into a deeper sleep. It had sounded like Talisa's.

She waited until his breathing returned to normal before she got out of bed to change into a different nightdress. She didn't want him to wake in the morning with evidence upon both of them of what had just occurred. When he woke in the morning he would no doubt see what he'd done to himself but at least she would appear to be unscathed. She was careful about washing herself behind the changing screen, she didn't want the splashes of water to wake him either. The water was cold and further served as a remedy to the haze of stupidity she'd earlier been under. Sascha tried to return to bed but when Robb rolled close again she scurried out and moved over to her writing desk. She wouldn't be able to return to sleep now. She rubbed a hand over her face and settled in at her desk. Designing weapons always quieted her mind; maybe it would help now as well.

She must've fallen asleep at the desk for the next thing she knew she felt a heavy weight upon her shoulder. Sascha jerked, causing her chair to fall backwards. Instead of crashing onto the floor, she found herself being caught and hoisted upwards by a pair of strong arms, belonging to none other than her husband. Sascha gripped the ends of the wrap she'd draped over her shoulders close together, resisting the urge to reach out and steady herself against Robb's hold. Even after he helped to steady her on her own feet again, Robb's hands remained on her shoulders.

"Are you all right?" Robb's voice held concern and amusement both, if that were at all possible.

Keeping her eyes averted Sascha nodded, "I'm fine. You just startled me is all."

Robb smiled, "That much is obvious." He still seemed hesitant in letting go. Perhaps he thought she would fall again. "Why were you sleeping at your desk?"

"I couldn't sleep well." That much was true. Sascha had learned that half-truths could be quite useful. "I thought that maybe designing a new machine would quiet my mind."

"You're thinking about the campaign?"

Sascha nibbled on her lower lip. She didn't like lying. She never had. In her childhood her father had made her spout lies—she'd lied to keep him from further hitting her—of absolute obedience and filial piety. Robar had taught her that there was freedom in honesty, and carefully crafted evasive answers if need be. Sascha glanced at Robb's face, aware that he hadn't moved away from her yet. She would rely upon the evasive answers instead of the lies. She never wanted to return to the lies as long as she could help it. There was also the promise they'd made to each other the night of their wedding: to not lie to one another.

"There are many things on my mind yes. The events within the letters, the repercussions of what is about to happen starting from today," in that she was referencing Talisa but of course Robb didn't know that, "as well as many other things." Sascha managed a small smile, "Are you thinking about the campaign?"

Robb nodded and finally moved away. He crossed the room to the dressing screen and behind it where the basin of wash water was kept. Sascha let out the breath she'd been partially holding while he'd been so close, careful to keep the outrushing air silent.

"This will be the first campaign using those weapons so the strategies of attack will be a bit different than all the campaigns before." Sascha heard the splashing of water and turned away. Though she already couldn't see much because of the screen, after the night they'd just shared—or at least that she'd been privy to and he not so much—she felt the need to give even more privacy than normal. "I'm also wondering about Jamie Lannister."

Sascha looked up when Robb reappeared. She blushed and immediately looked away again when she realized he had discarded his nightshirt and was in the process of putting on a tunic. Surprisingly, Sascha shook her head, that was the most she'd seen of her husband's naked skin since they'd married. It hadn't been bad to look at and in fact that was precisely the reason she clenched her fists at her side and set her teeth. His former paramour was just outside their walls, pregnant with his child, and he was walking around their marriage chamber as unaware of how tempting he was to her as he was unaware of the damage he'd done to her mental and emotional stability just that morning.

"What about Jamie Lannister?" Sascha managed to ask through clenched teeth.

"Now that the Targaryen woman has King's Landing and the majority of the Lannister's are in prison, save Tywin and Jamie, I'm trying to figure out what to do with Jamie. Will I need to use him as a game piece in my future interactions with the Targaryen or even with Tywin? Do I send him with my best regards to King's Landing for her to do with as she pleases or do I enforce my own justice against him for his part in the actions taken against my family?"

"Do you think he has any sense of honor left in him?"

Robb came to stand beside Sascha and she was aware that he looked at her strangely, "I'm not sure. Why do you ask?"

"Well, there is the problem of the Bolton's and Winterfell." Sascha continued to stare out their window instead looking at her husband. "I wonder if it would be possible to send a contingent of men, headed by one or two of your more trusted yet 'expendable' bannermen, north towards Winterfell for reconnaissance and or fighting purposes."

"I'm not sure where I see Jamie Lannister in this or why a sense of honor would be necessary."

Sascha turned away from the window, "Lannister's always repay their debts, that is well known. If you could bargain with Jamie Lannister, ensure something of value to him that he would want, then you would gain a very skilled swordsman in your fight to regain Winterfell."

"He's a Kingslayer." Robb spit out the word with venom.

Sascha gave a sad smile, "And you were almost an Oathbreaker." Robb looked as if she'd struck him but she continued. "You are here, now, because you saw reason and were given the opportunity to amend your impulsive decisions. Perhaps you have more in common with Jamie Lannister than you would care to admit. Perhaps he would be an almost Kingslayer had there been people in his life willing to reason with him or offer him aid, as you had."

"You certainly seem confident that you averted great bloodshed with words such as those," Robb's voice held a note of resigned sarcasm and as he looked away Sascha saw what appeared to be disappointment on his face. What was it he was disappointed in? It was true that he was not dead now, and his men slaughtered as well, because she'd gotten to him first. She was not being arrogant. It was a fact. Now did she take pleasure in their current circumstances? Sascha looked back outside the window. She thought she'd been content at least.

"As outlandish as it sounds," Robb's grave voice brought Sascha back from her mental wanderings, "your idea does have some merit. I'll present it to the councilmen after breakfast." Robb lingered, as if he had more to say, before he clenched his jaw and instead nodded his head. He left the room without another word. Sascha again let out a breath she'd been holding.

Aside from breaking fast with a sullen husband, Sascha barely saw him again for the remainder of the morning. He was too busy making the final preparations for his departure, as well as meeting with his councilmen to how to solve the problem with Jamie Lannister. For her part, Sascha didn't much notice the lack of interaction with her husband. She too was busy with ensuring that all the weapons were properly stowed, all the supplies were readily available and also packed away correctly, and that the newly trained brigade of bombardiers were well aware of the procedures they needed to take once they were about to go into battle.

Sascha was on her way back into the great hall when she spotted Talisa lurking in the shadows near the stairs leading up to the second level of the keep. They made eye contact and that was all it took for Sacha to gesture towards the lady to accompany her up the stairs. She didn't bother to look to see if Talisa was following or not and instead opened the door to her personal chambers and waited a few moments before Talisa finally came inside. Sasha gestured towards the writing desk for Talisa to sit but the woman shook her head and instead stared at the large bed. Sascha mentally sighed and moved to stand between Talisa and the bed, cutting off her line of sight. Talisa shook her head, as if coming out of a stupor, and folded her hands in front of her.

"Have you made your decision?" Sascha broke the silence first, understanding that as the higher ranking individual it would be her responsibility to do so.

With averted eyes Talisa nodded, "I have come to seek approval in my hand-fasting to Owen Norrey."

"What?" Sascha blinked, confounded by the unexpected turn of events. "Lord Norrey's nephew?"

"Yes," Talisa looked directly at Sascha, "you said I needed to come up with an alternative plan or else tell the truth of this." She smoothed a hand over the slight protrusion of her belly. "Owen Norrey has asked me to be his wife and pending your approval I will accept. I do not have kin nearby or a representative of my kin from whom I can seek approval. As my liege-queen, I seek your approval." Talisa bowed her head and for the first time Sascha felt that it wasn't done in sarcastic disdain.

"Lady Talisa," Sascha refrained from scratching the back of her neck, "I know I do not need to be privy to all of the details of your relationship with the young Norrey bannerman, however," she sighed, "is he aware of your condition? I can hardly think any man would find it pleasing to marry a noblewoman only to have her first born belong to his own liege lord."

Talisa smiled, the smile soft and her eyes began to brighten with unshed tears, "He is aware of my condition, though he has sworn to tell no others of it. He is a solid man with great honor. He will not betray my confidence."

"Can you be happy with this man? Can you love him?"

"My queen," Talisa's voice was soft and Sascha shifted forward to be able to hear, "for a woman in my condition the promise of protection and provisions is enough." She managed to offer Sascha a larger smile than Sascha had ever been granted before by the woman. "I thank you for your concern, however. I realize now, more than ever, that you are a woman of great character. I would beg your forgiveness for all my rude and untoward behavior. You need not have concerned yourself with my well-being nor did you ever have to treat me with the amount of kindness and respect that you thus far have. I have been ungrateful and unworthy of your kindness. Please pardon me." Talisa dipped into a full and formal curtsy.

Sascha was too taken aback to say anything for a moment. Instead she moved forward and took hold of Talisa's hands and pulled her back to her full height—which was only a few inches shorter than Sascha. She let go of Talisa's hands after another hesitant moment and gave a wobbly smile. This was perhaps one of the most awkward conversations she'd ever had with a woman before.

"Thank you for that, Lady Talisa, but it was unnecessary. I merely acted upon what I know to be honorable and true." Sascha did give into the temptation the nervously run her hand across the back of her neck then. "May I know what you intend to do with the child? Will you declare him as a Stark or will you conceal him within the Norrey clan?"

Talisa frowned, "I had not thought that far ahead, to be honest. If you are worried about my son usurping your own as heir to Winterfell-"

"Oh no!" Sascha held up her hand and waved away Talisa's well-unfounded concern. "Family politics such as that have never concerned me. Heir or not, I know that my own offspring with Robb would be well taken care of; the Starks are proud but honorable." Sascha mentally laughed. IF she ever had any offspring with him. "I am more interested in knowing how forthright I may be with my husband and his family in the future. I cannot and will not lie to my husband, I want you to know that."

"I understand." Talisa again rubbed a hand over her belly, perhaps has a nervous gesture. "May I discuss the matter with my intended first?"

"Of course. Though you'll have to discuss the matter after they return from the campaign." Sascha's eyes widened. "The campaign. Oh no!" She moved to the window and let out a curse on her breath. All of Robb's bannermen, along with the family heads of the Starks and Freys, were already gathered in the courtyard. Sascha's panic grew when she couldn't see any sign of Robb. "Lady Talisa I'm afraid-" she turned to face the woman just as the door to her chambers opened and Robb himself moved inside.

* * *

The Last Push: Robb

It was of no surprise to Robb that his sleep would suffer after the intensity of the last week of preparations. Not only were his men antsy about their upcoming departure but the added pressure from the various letters he'd received had increased the burden upon his shoulders. Daenerys Targaryen had successfully invaded and routed Lannister forces in King's Landing. According to the letter he'd received from her advisor, the defamed Ser Jorah Mormont, the former Lannister king had been executed the remaining members of his family had been arrested and imprisoned pending further trial. The letter promised peace between the Stark's and the Khaleesi's forces, pending Robb's participation in the final push against the Lannister's and any other enemies of the Targaryen woman. Robb felt no reservation in his reply: that he had every intent upon decimating the Lannister forces. Additionally, he put forward the idea of combining forces, following the Lannister defeat, to solve the wilding problems in the north.

Tywin Lannister's letter had been laughable in its equal arrogance and desperation. He only read the letter to see if there'd been any mention of Sansa but upon finding nothing he'd burnt the letter and sent no reply. His silence now, and impending attack, would be answer enough.

Lord Varys, a man known for his duplicity, had also sent an unexpected letter. There were little details but the content had been enough to assure Robb—should the letter be real of course—that both Sansa and Tyrian Lannister were neither imprisoned nor dead. Nothing further was mentioned. Robb was relieved to have at least that for now.

Jon's letter had also been surprising. While he wasn't surprised to read of wilding problems, or unrest amongst the men of the Black, he had been taken aback with the news of the Bolton's and Greyjoy's. The Greyjoy's were men of the sea, not the land, and while they had a history of brief pillaging conquests upon land, never had they ever attempted to maintain mainland fortresses. That they had retreated from Winterfell upon the attacks from the Bolton's was not surprising in the least. That the Bolton's would tear asunder their alliance with the Stark's and instead declare themselves the kings and wardens of the North had been more than upsetting. Robb had cut in twain a sparring statue with his sword in anger after he'd read the letter. He'd been so upset by the Bolton news that he'd very nearly missed the allusions to inhuman sightings of beings beyond the Wall. He couldn't do anything about the letter at this time, however, and filed away the information for after the current campaign.

Their next offensive would be the final push. The Lannister's and their allies couldn't maintain the fight on two sides for long. He also could not be absent from his lands in the north for much longer, his bannermen either, not if Jon's letter was truth still. These next battles would have to be swift and decisive. And he had his wife to thank for ensuring that. During the week she'd pushed her men to finish all the weapons and training ahead of schedule. He'd expected to have only a portion of the weapons she'd initially promised upon his departure but had instead he'd been given all that she'd promised, including a few extras. He'd been so delighted with her news, in such contrast with the pressure from the week of preparations and the news from the letters, that he'd gathered her into his arms and swung her about his body, laughing and uncaring that he did so in front of his mother and a good portion of his bannermen.

She'd wrapped her arms around him in return, though most likely to keep herself steady, and Robb remembered long afterwards what it felt like to hold her like that. It'd been strange, since her body was so unlike Talisa's, or his mother's and sister's. She was firm with muscle, near the same height as himself, and she did not soften into his touch. Nor had she pulled away, he'd reminded himself, and there was that to be thankful for.

They hadn't shared much affection between each other, and the majority of the amiability between them was based upon mutual respect. When they were alone, they talked of his campaign, poured over her schematics, or spoke of his troubles with Arya. The latter was a newer development, as they'd been bonding over her skills as a craftsman ever since their wedding night—and Sascha's insights into strategy were strikingly clever and he'd be a damn fool to not employ some of her strategies. Now that Arya was with them, Robb found himself often at an impasse of what to do with her. His youngest sister was as willful as ever and still had yet to completely open up about what she'd seen and done during her time with Gendry from King's Landing to Harrenhall. His mother was equally uncertain of how best to approach Arya and so, going upon Sascha's comments in an earlier discussion regarding Arya's temperament, Robb had begun to seek her counsel regarding the young girl. Sascha's advice and insight regarding Arya proved just as accurate and helpful as her weapons and war tactics and Robb had yet to find the time, or figure out the proper way, to thank his wife for her help. It had been upon her recommendation that Robb approve Arya's request for further swordsmanship training, and it had also been Sascha who'd suggested his mother's swordsword Lady Brienne. Robb found the irony amusing: his mother's swornsword, a woman herself, training his younger sister in doing something his mother believed woman shouldn't do at all. His mother had been less than enthused with the plan initially but after reminding her of how much worse things could've been for Arya if she hadn't been taught survival or fighting skills, she'd been won over.

So while the sword training aided in tempering down Arya's angst, it didn't take away the problem of Gendry. He understood his wife had a high opinion of lad and took great pains to not-so-subtly speak of his aid in making her weapons as well as what she believed to be his uprightness of character. But that didn't stop his own misgivings. There truly was something about the lad that struck him as eerily familiar and the more the lad grew, which in the time they'd come back with him from Harrenhall both Arya and Gendry had regained some weight in muscle, the more that sense of familiarity grew. It was true that he hadn't seen or heard the lad do anything to besmirch Arya's reputation, or his own, but that didn't make up for the fact that he was a bastard without a lineage and Arya was now a princess of the North. Robb, of course, hoped that whatever man he arranged for Arya's marriage would be someone she could love and respect, but that didn't change the fact she would have to marry for alliance purposes and not her own happiness. That was the way of things.

His own marriage was testimony of that fact. Barring his forced separation from Talisa, he couldn't altogether complain about his marriage to Sascha. She was capable, confident, and had more than proven herself useful to his campaign. While most marriages were not based upon the efficiency and usefulness of a woman—at least not in matters outside the birthing room—Robb was satisfied with where he and Sascha had come to be. They didn't tiptoe around each other and it was now a rare occasion that Robb got the feeling that Sascha was withholding something or her own personality or opinion from him. And perhaps it was because they were content enough in these ways that Robb hadn't quite felt the pressure to consummate the marriage. In many ways he felt that they already had, by uniting together for the campaign, and would readily claim her as his wife and coregent of the North.

No one spoke of the matter—though aside from Sascha, himself, and undoubtedly his mother who was aware of almost everything regarding him, no one was aware of it. Robb had overheard, once, Sascha's sisters asking about the marriage chamber. He hadn't stayed nearby to hear her answer, as it would've made matters all the worse for her had she discovered his presence just around the corner from where she'd been talking with her family. He trusted her to be able to fend off the questions well enough. Later on in the day, and most likely it was because of that overheard conversation, Robb had found himself watching his wife. She hadn't known he was watching; he'd been across the courtyard from where she was after all. He'd been going back into the great hall after consulting with Lord's Umber and Norrey when he'd heard Sascha's voice calling out orders from the smithies.

When he'd looked over to see what was going on he'd found himself staring and hadn't been able to move on. She'd been wearing another one of her strange outfits, with leggings and bodice, but she'd discarded the makeshift skirt and stood only in the form-fitting leggings. She'd rolled up the sleeves of her tunic and was assisting a team of smithies in positioning one of the many complicated parts of her cannons into its proper place. Of course he should've told her to let the men do such work and yet he'd kept silent; he was well aware that Sascha would do what she thought was necessary in the production of these weapons, whether or not he personally agreed with whether or not it was proper.

Through the flurry of activity, Robb had been able to make out the fact that she'd unlaced the upper portion of her bodice. He'd frowned then. If he had noticed, standing as he was across the courtyard from her, then undoubtedly the other men had as well. When she bent over to pick up the rope of a pulley, he'd glimpsed a brief view of her cleavage. That view—streaks of dirt traveling down her neck on the trails of sweat, disappearing beneath the fabric of her tunic, and her arms, strong and bare, grasping firmly the rope and pulling, making muscles in her thighs bunch together under the thin fabric of her leggings—stuck itself to his brain and he'd hurried onwards when she'd begun to look in his direction, suddenly afraid that she'd see him watching her.

When he'd crawled into bed that night, Robb found himself suddenly much more aware of his wife than ever before. If he wasn't mistaken, there had been a few mornings prior that he'd briefly woken up and she'd been curled next to him, but never had those moments carried with them this heightened sense of awareness. He was suddenly privy to every time she shifted in bed, how much closer or further away it took her from his side. He knew exactly how far he would have to reach in order to touch her and it took him by surprise to realize that he was curious over what sort of response such an action would render from her. It took time, and she'd fallen into deeper slumber before him, but eventually Robb did fall asleep. Or least he thought he had.

"Robb." He heard Sascha call his name sometime later in the night and he turned his head towards her. She still lay on her side facing away from him but he knew from her breathing that she was awake. He rolled onto his side to face her but said nothing, waiting instead for her to speak again. "I know you were watching me today." Robb felt the same jolt of awareness he'd felt earlier snake through his body at her words. He swallowed against the sudden thickness in his throat, unsure of what it was he was supposed to say. "I," her voice deepened in quality and his body responded by beginning to tighten, "I like it when you watch me, Robb."

Robb felt that he'd gotten the breath knocked out of him and mutely took the hand she'd suddenly extended towards him over her shoulder. He scooted closer, her fingers intertwining with his in a firm clasp. Once he was behind her, her back flush against his chest, she took his hand and placed it on her side, her own hand upon the back of his. Robb didn't move his hand much at first, uncertain of whether or not he should. While this awareness he newly felt was undoubtedly attraction, Robb couldn't help but wonder if initiating physical intimacy now, the night before his departure, would be the wisest of decisions.

"Please," she turned her head to peer at him over her shoulder, "touch me Robb."

He needed no further encouragement. He leaned forward, pressing his forward against the back of her neck, and snaked his hand down over her hip to cup her between her legs. He yanked her back further against him until she would feel his growing arousal against the small of her back. He heard her gasp and he smiled. He'd never thought he'd want to hear such a sound from her before and yet now he wanted to hear it again, and again. He increased the pressure of his hand between her legs, using his fingers to seek out the nub of nerves that he knew would bring her the most pleasure. She responded by pressing her hips against his, mimicking the movements of sex, while her hands reached up and over her hands until her fingers could bury themselves in his hair, her fingernails scratching against his scalp. Robb moaned and shifted his hips further down until he could feel the heat of her core through their night clothes and he began to rock himself more fervently against her.

He moved his head forward until he could rest his lips against the skin of her neck. Although she'd bathed prior to entering their bed, Robb could still smell the faintest trace of smoke upon her skin. Instead of quieting his desire for her, the reminder of what he'd seen earlier that day, fueled his passion and he abandoned her folds and instead clasped one of her breasts. He kissed her neck, licking at the perspiration that had begun to form, as his fingers circling her nipple and tugging it into hardness. He heard her gasp and moan out his name. Hearing her call his name in such a way pushed Robb over the edge. Without meaning to end their first interlude so quickly, Robb thrust himself against her a few more times before he climaxed. He whispered an apology against her neck, aware that it had only been he who had reached completion, before sudden exhaustion had him falling away from her onto his back. Sascha rolled over and laid her head upon his shoulder, curling herself against him with a contented sigh.

When he next came too, Robb realized with shocking clarity that everything had been a dream. Oh his climax had been real enough, the evidence was on his night clothes, but the shared intimacy with his wife had been a lie. Robb sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms in an effort to wipe away the dredges of his dream. Sascha, instead of lying by his side, sat at her desk. It appeared that she'd been there for some time and was now dozing with her head perched on her arm upon the desk itself. There was nothing about her appearance that would alert Robb that the dream had been reality. It was only he that carried evidence of it and he felt ashamed by it. Of course it was only natural that a husband should desire his wife, but Robb and Sascha did not share a natural marriage.

Robb was careful about getting out of bed and moving towards his chest where he could change into a new nightshirt. Sascha had never indicated to him that she wanted to be physically intimate with him, and prior to last night, he'd never much dwelled upon the possibility of being intimate with her. She was pleasing to look at—her muscular nature was surprisingly more appealing that not to him—and he understood that she would be considered fairly attractive to most, but honestly he'd never—well almost never—thought of her sexually. And yet now, Robb frowned as he discarded his old nightshirt, he was having lustful dreams about his wife in much the same way as he'd once had uncontrollable lustful dreams about the wenches outside Winterfell when he'd been a boy.

Taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out, Robb approached his sleeping wife. She was breathing with her mouth partially open and for a brief moment Robb thought he heard her voice calling out his name in pleasure again, as she had in his dream. He shook his head. He couldn't think about her that way. This wasn't the time.

Robb reached out and shook her shoulder. Sascha startled away so violently that if he hadn't caught her she would've fallen onto the floor. He tried to keep from smiling at her gracelessness as he helped her stand steady again.

"Are you all right?"

Sascha didn't look at him immediately, no doubt embarrassed about her near fall. "I'm fine. You just startled me is all."

Robb smiled, "That much is obvious." He noticed then that he hadn't let go of her shoulders yet. He also noticed that her cheeks were beginning to pinken. Was it because of how she'd woken up or was it because of his touch? Robb didn't let go, curious about else might happen if he continued to hold her. "Why were you sleeping at your desk?"

"I couldn't sleep well." She spoke quickly and her tone of voice was a bit higher pitched than normal. "I thought that maybe designing a new machine would quiet my mind."

Robb raised an eyebrow, "You're thinking about the campaign?"

Sascha nibbled on her lower lip, drawing Robb's attention there. His fingers curled but he managed to refrain from pulling her against himself. She had no knowledge of his dream and would not understand his sudden desire for intimacy with her. No doubt she was growing more and more nervous by his touch now. While she hadn't explained everything of her childhood he'd glimpsed a few scars and understood from her interactions with her father to know that Walder Frey had taught Sascha to shy away from touch.

"There are many things on my mind yes. The events within the letters, the repercussions of what is about to happen starting from today," Robb mentally sighed, she had no understanding of just different things would or could be between them starting from this day onward, "as well as many other things." Sascha managed a small smile, "Are you thinking about the campaign?"

He couldn't find it in himself to tell her of his dream, or to further press her limits of physical intimacy, and instead nodded and moved away. He crossed the room to the dressing screen and behind it where the basin of wash water was kept. He wanted to wash away any remaining evidence of his shameful dream. In order to keep Sascha from sensing his emotional discomfort, however, he spoke to her through the screen.

"This will be the first campaign using those weapons so the strategies of attack will be a bit different than all the campaigns before. I'm also wondering about Jamie Lannister." He came out from behind the dressing screen wearing only the breeches he'd left there the night before, his hands working to unravel the shirt he'd likewise discarded. When he looked up, he saw that Sascha had turned to look out the window. Did she find his appearance repulsive? He frowned as he pulled the tunic-shirt over his head and reached for his belt.

He had no knowledge of what sort of relationship Sascha had had with her previous husband Robar. From what she'd told him, it had been a healthy and mutually respectful marriage. But it still remained that after years of marriage, Sascha had not borne any children. Robb was not fool enough to think that such things were solely the fault of the woman, he'd listened to the maester talk to Sansa and Arya about such things before and knew that it could be either woman or man at fault. But this fact did make Robb wonder: Sascha's reluctance to initiate physical contact, the way she stiffened whenever they were in contact, and her apparent aversion to seeing or revealing naked flesh. What could this mean?

"What about Jamie Lannister?"

Robb blinked, momentarily lost in the conversation. His mind had wandered far from it and it took him a moment to remember what it was they'd been speaking about. "Now that the Targaryen woman has King's Landing and the majority of the Lannister's are in prison, save Tywin and Jamie, I'm trying to figure out what to do with Jamie. Will I need to use him as a game piece in my future interactions with the Targaryen or even with Tywin? Do I send him with my best regards to King's Landing for her to do with as she pleases or do I enforce my own justice against him for his part in the actions taken against my family?"

"Do you think he has any sense of honor left in him?"

Robb came to stand beside Sascha, "I'm not sure. Why do you ask?"

"Well, there is the problem of the Bolton's and Winterfell." Sascha continued to stare out their window instead looking at him. Robb didn't quite understand the coldness he'd thus far received from her. For the life of him he couldn't recall saying anything that morning, or the night before, that would cause her to retreat behind the borders she'd once held between them. The way she spoke to him now reminded him of their first few encounters. He didn't like it in the least. He shook his head and forced himself to follow the rest of her words. "I wonder if it would be possible to send a contingent of men, headed by one or two of your more trusted yet 'expendable' bannermen, north towards Winterfell for reconnaissance and or fighting purposes."

"I'm not sure where I see Jamie Lannister in this or why a sense of honor would be necessary."

Sascha turned away from the window but still didn't look at him directly, "Lannister's always repay their debts, that is well known. If you could bargain with Jamie Lannister, ensure something of value to him that he would want, then you would gain a very skilled swordsman in your fight to regain Winterfell."

"He's a Kingslayer." Robb not only didn't like the way Sascha was holding herself back from him but equally did not like the idea of offering anything of value to the bastard Jamie. While it was true that he hadn't personally seen to Ned's beheading, he had often enough been at odds with Robb's father. Equally, Robb knew that the current status of his lost brothers and hostaged sister had little to do with the Kingslayer. But that didn't change one thing: Jamie was a Lannister and a bastard at that.

"And you were almost an Oathbreaker." Robb startled back into their conversation with her words. "You are here, now, because you saw reason and were given the opportunity to amend your impulsive decisions. Perhaps you have more in common with Jamie Lannister than you would care to admit. Perhaps he would be an almost Kingslayer had there been people in his life willing to reason with him or offer him aid, as you had.

Robb smirked, though he felt far from amused with the turn their conversation had taken, "You certainly seem confident that you averted great bloodshed with words such as those." He looked away from her and out the window she'd earlier been staring out. He could directly see the field in which his forces were camped, between him and his forces the river. The sight of the river reminded Robb of his initial reasons for seeking an alliance with the Freys. It equally reminded him of exactly what he'd spoken to Sascha about during their first meeting. Her words held some truth, at least in regards to himself. She wasn't one to be arrogant or self-seeking and it had been wrong of him to accuse her being such. When he glanced back at her he saw that she too had begun to stare out the window as well, her arms crossed over her chest. Robb sighed and seriously contemplated her suggestion, once he set aside his own prejudice.

"As outlandish as it sounds," Robb spoke after a moment's more pause, "your idea does have some merit. I'll present it to the councilmen after breakfast."

Sascha looked back to him, surprise apparent on her face. Robb felt drawn towards her again, physically and emotionally, but he clenched his fists and left the room. It really would not do to press himself upon his wife. He had no knowledge of what she felt towards him, in reference to increasing their physical intimacy, and to do so without discussing it with her first, and with only the briefest of time prior to his departure, would be unjust. He couldn't and he wouldn't do that to her.

After breaking fast together, he called together his councilmen, and mother, to discuss the situation concerning Jamie Lannister. While no one had ventured up a differing option, the majority of those present did not readily agree with Sascha's idea. So Robb called for a private meeting with Jamie.

He was brought in not long after, accompanied by Hornwood and Cerwyn bannermen. The former "golden swordsman" of King's Landing looked more like a homeless beggar now. His clothing was in tatters and his hair was shaggy, accompanied by a wild looking beard. Robb was surprised at how quickly the Lannister's hair grew and certainly hadn't expected such a difference in appearance. He'd lost weight as well, it seemed, but Robb didn't feel the slightest tinge of remorse of any of it. The man was still a snarky bastard, as reported to Robb by those who guarded him.

"To what do I owe this honor?" Jamie broke the silence first, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Every slight movement he made was accompanied with the clanging and clinking of his shackles and to Robb's ears it sounded like the finest music.

Robb smiled as he strode forward and took his seat at the long table that stood between him and the Lannister man. He nodded his head to the guards and waited until they left the room before he spoke.

"Would you care to sit down?" He gestured to the seat directly in front of Jamie but wasn't surprised when Jamie sneered at both the chair and Robb. "Very well then, you'll have to receive the news standing up." To say that Robb took pleasure in reading Jorah Mormont's letter to Jamie would be an understatement. In fact, by the letter's end Jamie Lannister was sitting as Robb had earlier invited him to do so, and had such a look of resigned defeat upon his face that Robb couldn't help up internally cheer.

"Your forces are leaving today to engage my father then." Jamie looked back up at Robb. "And is my head to be upon the Stark banner as you march into battle?

"Don't tempt me." Robb stood up and walked down the length of the table until he stood near to Jamie's side. "I will not lie to you and say that it wouldn't give me pleasure repaying your family's treachery with a little of my own. My father's death, my sisters' capture and mistreatment at the hands of your crazed nephew," Jamie's face drew into a grimace and he looked away but Robb continued, "to name but two from the list of many betrayals the Lannister's have dealt out in recent months."

"Then," Jamie looked back to him, his jaw clenched, "what will you do with me then? Continue to keep me as a dog in your cages? I wouldn't think that to be a very wolf-ly move from the King of the North. But you are more of a pup than a wolf aren't you?"

Robb didn't rise to Jamie's baiting, "The Lannister always pay their debts. Is this not true?"

"Yes." Jamie tipped his head to the side.

"If I were to personally petition for the protection and perhaps even release of your sister and your nieces and nephews, what would you say?"

"I would say that that is a promise you cannot keep and an empty promise at that. The Khaleesi is a Targaryen and it is well-known that they will murder anyone, including women and children, who stand in their way to what they want. If this Targaryen continues to see my family as a threat to her throne, she will mercilessly cut them down and there is nothing you or anyone else could do or say that would stop her."

Robb nodded, "Yes I would say that is true for all the past Targaryen's but you have apparently not heard the same reports that I have regarding this one. It seems that from a long line of ruthless kings, a benevolent queen has emerged. Perhaps her time commanding the Dothraki hordes, or the fact that she has three dragons aiding her in her battles, has made her more open to bucking tradition."

"That doesn't change the fact that she had to kill a Lannister to get her throne and she will feel little remorse in killing more Lannister's if it serves her purposes."

"Very well," Robb sighed, "I will not waste my time in the offer and will instead return you to your prison cell."

"What sort of offer were you planning to make, based upon such fanciful promises?" Jamie leaned back in his chair, in no hurry to return to his cell.

"I was told that if you still held any semblance of honor within you, that should I offer you something that you would find valuable, that I would win to my side an able-bodied swordsman upon whom I could count for my purposes in the North."

Jamie smirked, "While I'm flattered that this person would say such pretty things about me, they seemed to have forgotten that on this very day you are about to go do battle with my own father, with the intention of defeating him."

"And would you mourn him?" Robb leveled his gaze at the Lannister, hating every aspect of his features. "Would you mourn his death as I mourned the death of my own father?"

"Father's die all the time, Stark, sons too." Jamie didn't look the least bit perturbed by Robb's words and Robb hated him all the more for it. "So long as you are at war with my family, you can count on me to repay the debt of disdain I owe you for that."

"Very well." Robb moved behind Jamie to the door. "My wife doesn't like to be proven wrong and I hate to disappoint her." He raised his hand to open the door.

"Wait."

Robb turned to look over his shoulder. Jamie hadn't stood but was looking at Robb with a strange expression upon his face, "Your wife was the one who suggested this plan?"

"Yes," Robb turned to face the Lannister again, "you don't think I would willingly think up any other option aside from your head separating itself from your body?"

Jamie smirked, "No, I don't." He looked down at his hands for a brief moment then back to Robb. "A Lannister always repays his debts." He stood up. "I will take your offer."

"What?" Robb frowned. "Why the change?"

"My debt, Stark, is not to you or your empty promises regarding my family. My debt is to your wife and it is long past time that I repaid her."

"What sort of debt do you have with my wife?" Robb was quickly not liking this turn of events. Jamie Lannister was a known philanderer and the idea of him owing anything to his wife had his stomach souring.

Jamie smirked, "That is between myself and your wife. You can ask her about if you wish, but suffice to say that I will repay my debt to her." He shook his shackles together. "So when do I leave and what am I going to be doing?"

After his initial shock, and chagrin, wore off he recalled his councilmen and they discussed the matter. Robb didn't disclose to them that it was the debt Lannister felt he owed to Sascha that had him agreeing to the offer, he didn't want to bring any suspicion upon his wife—that he didn't already have himself. In the end, the agreement was that a group comprised mainly of Wull and Flint men would go north to assess the severity of the Bolton situation and Jamie would accompany them. After the agreement was made Robb's mother approached him and personally requested that he allow her swornsword, Lady Brienne, to act as guard to Jamie.

"To guard him from what? Running away?"

Lady Stark had shaken her head, "The Lannister's are enemies not only to the Stark's, Robb. They have swindled and betrayed many families in the North, and it is well known that Torghen Flint swore to water the lands of his people with Lannister blood. It would not do well to lose the heir-apparent to the Lannister lands, not if you want to ensure good standing with the queen of the Iron Throne. No doubt she would want to deal out her own justice to him and the rest of his family."

He'd agreed to the matter, but begrudgingly so. Lady Brienne was his mother's swornsword and it would be up to her to convince the warrioress to comply with her wishes. Leaving the following convincing in her capable hands, Robb had set about finalizing all the remaining details of what was to be done in his absence and it wasn't long after that all of the lords of his bannermen, the heads of the Frey household, and his mother and sister were assembled in the courtyard. The only one missing was his wife. Robb frowned. He hadn't seen her since breakfast, now that he thought about it. He approached his mother but didn't have to voice his question before she leaned forward and whispered to him.

"I saw her go to your chambers," Lady Stark gave him a grave look, "SHE was following her."

Robb didn't quite understand at first but after another hard look from his mother he felt his stomach drop out and he quickly moved past her into the keep. He took the stairs two at a time and near fell inside his bedchambers. Sure enough, Talisa turned and looked at him with wide eyes while Sascha stood near the window, her expression one of surprise and guilt.


	7. Cycle of Birth and Death

Cycle of birth and death: Robb

It had not been intended, his long delay in returning to the Twins. But though unintended, Robb found that he now somewhat wished the delay could've lasted longer. He was in no hurry to return home to his wife and to the chaotic confusion he'd left months before, or to the unanswered questions that had haunted his nights whilst on the campaign. He supposed he should ride with a straighter back and a more confidant air, considering the great successes he and his men had achieved on this campaign, and yet he fought against the desire to slump in his saddle and brood over what was to come. He had not achieved as many successes off the battlefield that he'd hoped to and now he was returning to an uncertain homecoming.

Three months. The campaign he and his bannermen had left to fight had taken them three months, and a handful of days, to complete. The battles had been fierce—Sascha's machines had aided greatly in routing the enemy with the confusion the explosions and smoke had caused—but more than a few battles had nearly been lost. Quite a number of his bannermen had died before the tides had turned decidedly in their favor when the Khaleesi finally committed her forces from the south, her work in solidifying her power in King's Landing completed enough to be able to do so. The land had then been swept up in a tide of Dothraki riders, only barely reigned in by the Khaleesi herself. Horrific reports of towns being razed by the barbaric horsemen were not the only things making Robb question whether or not he'd made a deal with a devil instead of a woman. Her dragons had been more difficult to control or prepare against. Attacks had been made on both sides, the dragons having little loyalty except to their stomachs and their mother—when it suited them—and supply chains were often broken when their livestock and horses had been carried off by the greedy dragons. And yet the Khaleesi had maintained a firm and controlled response to any desperate inquiry made by Robb or his bannermen, telling them that sacrifices had to be made by all in order to bring the civil war to an end.

And end it did. The bloody, costly war came to an end with Tywin Lannister's death and the surrendering of the last of his supporters. The Lannister forces had been forced to pledge fealty to the new queen and had been disbanded for the most part, though a contingency—namely of the high commanders—had been recalled to King's Landing to await further orders. Remembering his deal with Jamie Lannister, or at least the deal Jamie had with his wife—one of those haunting unanswered questions for Robb—had delayed Robb's celebration and his return to the Twins. Instead of joining in with his bannermen and allies in rejoicing at the defeat of their enemy, he'd raced to King's Landing with the best of his men in the hopes of preventing familicide of the last of the Lannister/Baratheon's. Once there, it had taken nearly two weeks alone to gain entrance into the Iron Throne Room. The Khaleesi had much to change, it seemed, and was determined to make changes immediately. Traditional family positions at court had been cast aside and a new order set in place; in some cases, a return to ancient traditions—Targaryen traditions—were readopted and those who would support any other traditions were executed, exiled, or worse…Robb had heard reports of the dragons being fed any who would question the Khaleesi's iron rule.

When Robb had finally gained entrance to the throne room, not for the first time did he question his own sanity in allying himself with this woman. His questioning and fears, however, were momentarily cast aside when his eyes fell on a familiar form. Disregarding any decorum that would be deemed necessary in such a place, and in view of such a person, Robb had not hesitated in rushing forward and taking into his arms the weeping body of his sister Sansa. He dared not breathe, for fear that such an action would drive her away. But even after his breath finally returned, she remained clinging to him. It was surreal holding her in this place, at this time, and yet it also seeming fitting.

"I see the tendency to openly express emotions without regard for others is a family trait."

A womanly voice, tinted with steel and amusement, echoed in the otherwise silent room. Robb looked over his sister's head and finally caught sight of the woman he'd come to reason with. Daenerys Targaryen, Stormborn, the Unburnt, Mother of Dragons, Khaleesi of the Dothraki, Trueborn Queen of the Andals, Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lady of the Seven Kingdoms. While her appearance was that of a young and quite beautiful woman, even at this distance Robb saw the fire that could easily rise to the surface within her. The majority her garments were not of the Seven Kingdoms and yet the cloak she wore over them was most definitely of King's Landing design. Her hair was not in the fashion of King's Landing either, but was further evidence that she'd spent the majority of her time across the sea. The way she casually sat upon the throne itself, her expression placidly amused, made her appear approachable and yet…Robb could still discern the iron beneath the womanly exterior. This woman was a commander, a general, and a force to respect and only carefully question.

"My apologies, your majesty," Robb managed to bow his head and angled his body to attempt a similar courtesy with his body, although his sister had yet to disengage herself from him, "I did not know that my sister was here."

The queen offered him a half smile, "She is here, with her husband, at my pleasure." The queen raised her right hand and drew Robb's attention to the side of her throne. Standing there was Tyrion Lannister himself, dressed in richly garments and looking much different from what Robb had expected. He was not sickly or beaten, as Robb had thought a Lannister would be, but instead—aside from the horrible scarring of his face—looked none the worse for wear. In fact, he looked quite in his element. His expression was veiled, and Robb couldn't figure out what the imp was thinking, but his eyes were fully trained upon Robb and his sister, Tyrion's wife.

At the mentioning of her husband, Sansa drew back from Robb just enough to brush away the remaining tears on her face. She gave Robb a weary yet hopeful smile then stepped back. She didn't immediately move to rejoin her husband, and it still pained Robb to refer to imp as Sansa's husband, but instead remained by Robb's side, taking his offered hand and moving with him closer to the throne. As they moved, Robb took the opportunity to study his sister more carefully. She was a bit thinner than he remembered, but she was taller and looked more developed. She was dressed in King's Landing attire, and her colors were an odd mixture of Lannister/Stark colors. She did not falter as she walked or looked beaten and downtrodden. Though much more reserved than he remembered, Robb could still detect his younger sister of old lurking in the corners of this woman's mature eyes.

Robb bowed his head and torso once more when he was closer, not quite ready to bring himself to kneel before this woman. He was grateful to her for her aid against the Lannister's, but he knew well enough that she had not fought them on his behalf but her own. When he raised his head again he saw recognition of this fact blaze within her cold eyes as well. They continued to silently regard one another until Tyrion cleared his throat, the sound strangely explosive in the hall.

"Have you come to retrieve your sister, Lord Stark?"

Robb felt his sister's fingers tighten around his. He was very much aware of the title she'd just used in addressing him and that was what concerned him, at the same time that he was concerned over the fate of his sister. Robb took a steadying breath, not wanting to be the impulsive "wolf pup" his wife had once accused him of being.

"I have not, your majesty. If she is here with her husband, at your pleasure, and in that she is provided for by both her husband and her liege queen, then I would have her remain where she is." He felt more than heard Sansa gasp in surprise and he spared a glance at Tyrion just long enough to see a mirrored look of interest in the imp's eyes. The queen, in contrast, took in the information with a gentle nod, as if she'd expected no other response to her question. "I have, however, come to discuss another matter regarding trouble that brews in the north."

"Oh?" The queen raised a solitary eyebrow, a look of genuine curiosity upon her face. "Most interesting. I will listen to this in private." She nodded her head and all the courtiers lurking in the shadows vacated the room. Sansa looked up at Robb one last time before she let go of his hand and retreated to Tyrion's side. Robb watched as the imp let his wife lead the way out of the chamber. He kept a respectable yet intimate proximity with Sansa, Robb could see, and waited until she was through the exit before he left as well.

Once the room was cleared of everyone but the queen and himself, the queen returned her steely gaze to Robb. "Now, that's better." She rose from the throne and walked gracefully, as if floating, down the steps until she stood just in front of Robb. She was shorter than he, but that did not detract from the commanding atmosphere that flowed around her. "Robb Stark, supposed King in the North." Robb kept his mouth shut as the queen took to circling him. He knew this was a test and he refused to fail it. "From what I've heard, your father was a key supporter of the usurper Robert Baratheon, and that the Stark forces fought and died to put the Baratheon's upon the Iron Throne, forcing the last of the Targaryen's to flee into exile."

Robb nodded, "That much is true your majesty. My father first supported his childhood friend in seeking to reclaim his lost fiancé from the Targaryen prince." He knew he was skirting dangerous ground and yet something about this woman told him that anything less than the truth would be rewarded with disdain and death. "That the skirmish between those men descended into all-out war, that your majesty, can be remembered with pain in all of the kingdoms. Many innocent lives were lost and the Seven Kingdoms were irrevocably changed because of that."

"So," the queen came to stand in front of him again, a strange smile upon her face, "the bond between a man and a woman can be enough for an entire kingdom to fall apart."

Robb returned her smile with a tentative one of his own, "Or pull together."

She blinked at him, her eyes deeply studying his very soul—she had that in common with his wife. She drew back and eyed him boldly, from his head to his toes, before she spoke again. "What shall I do with you, son of the friend of a usurper, falsely crowned king in the north?"

"There is much that you can do, great queen." Robb took great pains to speak slowly, clearly, and without any sound of fear. "You know, as do I, that at the flick of a wrist you could have me and my men throne into the pens of your dragons to be torn apart. You could order your Blood Riders into the north to sow destruction upon any who would dare support the son of their old Warden over your own rule. You could do many cruel and terrible things, in vengeance upon the destruction that was laid upon your own house and kinsmen, and none would dare question you or defy you. By making an example of the House Stark and all their supporters, you would go down in history as a true Targaryen queen, unmerciful and mighty against her historic enemies. Your dragons would drive the last of the dire wolves into their graves."

The queen tilted her head to the side, a vague look of curiosity reaching her eyes, "Those are all things that I could do. That I have a right to do."

"Yes." Robb nodded. He felt as if rocks were in his boots, holding him hostage to that very spot. He could not have run even if he'd wanted to.

"But what would you rather I do, Lord Stark?"

Robb took a deep breath and slowly let it out, "The Seven Kingdoms have been torn apart by war, my queen. The people are tired of the unrest and they grow weary of royal politics. I'm sure your own councilmen have told you that in some corners of the kingdoms there are rebels terrorizing the countryside, declaring themselves independent of any ruler. The Ironborn are once more amassing a fleet of warships and their sails may very well lead them to our shores. In the north, wildings are fleeing south of the Wall because of terrible incursions done to them by unknown forces. The north has also descended into civil war, the land once governed by Wardens, appointed first by the Targaryen's and then the Baratheon's, is now being terrorized by those who have set themselves up as enemies not only of the Stark's but of any who would challenge their rule, including your own."

"You have told me of the troubles I already know, Lord Stark, and have not yet told me of what I should do with you or your House." She turned and walked back up the steps and gently placed herself back on the seat of the throne. Robb half expected a dragon to emerge from behind it, breathing fire-laden breath upon him.

He swallowed his pride, picturing the faces of his mother, sisters, and brothers, remembering the feeling of holding Sansa at long last—having thought he'd never do so again. Robb could hear his wife's accusing voice in his head, as well as her words of wisdom—her council so much like his father's had once been. Robb imagined his father with him then, standing next to him as he faced the woman sitting on her throne. He leveled his gaze upon the Iron Queen and spoke once more.

"Reappoint the Stark House as Warden in the North and I guarantee you the support and loyalty of the northmen will come to you. Grant me some of your forces to retake northern lands in your name, and allow us the freedom to secure peace within our northern borders. This will give you one less trouble to ponder from within your councils."

The queen hadn't bothered to hide her surprise at his request, nor had she reigned in the laugh his words had rendered from her. Once the strange emotion had passed, however, she'd recalled her councilmen and had sent Robb off with his sister so that she could speak with the council regarding his request. Considering Sansa's husband was a member of the council, though he was a Lannister, Robb had felt some comfort that the decision given to him would not be death—but he'd been proven wrong before.

He and Sansa were able to spend the remainder of the day together wherein Robb learned of the horrors Sansa had had to endure under Joffrey's reign. He also learned that Tyrion Lannister was exactly what his wife had said he was: a man of honor. His sister, though lacking in love, spoke of Tyrian with respect. She had admitted that Tyrion hadn't tried to force himself upon her and that up till that moment they only shared meals and walks with one another as he'd insisted upon a second bed being put inside their room. It was no secret, that Tyrion didn't share his wife's bed, but since he was a close member of the Queen's council, no one dared to speak ill of either Tyrion, his wife, or their marriage. Robb was satisfied, though not happy, with those facts.

Instead of taking one day for a consensus to be made regarding Robb's request, it had taken two additional days. And even after he'd been given his answer of an affirmative, with conditionals set forth by the queen, Robb hadn't been able to leave right away. There was the Lannister/Baratheon matter to deal with. He'd surprised his new kinsmen Tyrion with his inquiry after the health of the former royal family and had incurred the queen's amusement—and thankfully not her wrath—when he expressed his reluctance of handing over Jamie Lannister to her just yet, explaining the mission he'd been sent on as the reason why Jamie had agreed to it.

Robb had watched Tyrion when he'd spoken of Jamie's debt to Sascha, wondering if Tyrion would give away any clues. But aside from requesting that Robb give his greetings to Sascha for him, the man had remained stoically silent, signaling to a servant to bring Sansa more strawberries instead of offering any words. Thus Robb would remain in the dark about Jamie's debt until he could return home and demand an answer from Sascha herself.

"This wife of yours," the queen had spoken up after taking a drink, their meetings now taking place in her privy chamber, typically over meals, "I hear that she is one of the reasons you and your men were successful against the Lannister forces."

Robb poked at his food, not in fear that it was poisoned but now pensive over how much to say and how much to hold back. He didn't know what the queen was phishing for but somehow he knew she wanted something from him that he would rather not give. He'd already given up his kingship and had pledged fealty to her, having the representatives of his bannermen do the same, but what more would she require or push for?

"Yes, your majesty, my wife is a skilled inventor."

"Do you have any of the machines I've heard tale about that you used in your battles? I am most curious about them." The queen gave Robb an unwavering look. "As I am curious about the woman who designed them."

Robb swallowed, "I did not bring them with me, your majesty. They are with the remainder of my forces awaiting my return. Perhaps I can speak with my wife and she can design a few especially in honor of you to satiate your curiosity."

The queen nodded, "I would like that. But only if your wife were to accompany her machines. To demonstrate how they work, personally." There it was. The thing the queen was pushing for. Robb resisted the urge to shift in his chair. No doubt the queen could now see what many others could see—that he too knew more readily now than ever before—how valuable his wife's talents were and how her abilities could be used to revolutionize one's military forces. If the queen requested Sascha's presence in demonstrating her machines, she could also request that Sascha remain in King's Landing to build more machines and to create more machines, and then Robb may be left wondering when he'd ever see Sascha again or also be able to make use of her inventing prowess. He didn't bother asking himself if he were more worried over never seeing her again or over losing her inventive mind; he knew it was equally half.

He'd been reluctant to make such a promise but he did so in the end, gaining in return a similar promise from the queen that Tyrion and Sansa would personally travel north to accompany Robb's wife and her machines to King's Landing, once the northern lands were secured that is. Upon that request, the queen had been vague as to how much she'd be willing to commit. Namely she promised food and other such supplies and had given Robb a written edict that he could use to recruit men from houses now loyal to her if he had need of it—though Robb knew that few outside King's Landing proper would be interested or willing to commit to his new cause unless forced to do so, edict or no.

As for the other matter, pertaining to the Lannister/Baratheon remnants, Robb felt ashamed he'd not been able to do more. As the queen had relayed the fate of the former royal family to him, Robb had watched Tyrion's face once more. The dwarf had looked pained yet resigned as the queen spoke of young Tommen falling to his death from the parapets linking his prison cell with his mother's—he'd tried to escape into her cell to visit and had taken a fall instead, or so was the story told—and the queen mother's subsequent suicide by hanging, again so the story was told. The young princess Mrycella had been found dead in Dorne—and that kingdom now faced civil war with the assassination of its rulers—and news of Mrycella's death had only reached King's Landing in the days just prior to the former queen mother's suicide, some saying it was the deaths of her remaining children that had pushed the former regent to take her own life.

Thus all ends were neatly tied for the Khaleesi, aside from Jamie Lannister it seemed. Tyrion had made his decision to follow the queen and was therefore not a threat to her rule, and Robb couldn't fault him for it considering the fates of all his other kinsmen thus far. Pending Jamie's fate, Tyrion Lannister could be the next Lord of Casterly Rock. As for Jamie, the queen made it quite clear that he was to return to King's Landing once Robb rendezvoused with him and that she would deal with Jamie according to his actions and not his familial ties. Depending on what sort of mischief he'd caused on his current mission to the north, Robb had not an inkling if the elder Lannister would survive much longer.

And so, nearly a month after his initial arrival in King's Landing, Robb and his men had departed. He had the queen's approval and support for his next campaign in the north; he had secured a tentative future for his House and the houses of those loyal to him, he had followed through with his promise to Jamie Lannister and had also been satisfied with the health of his own sister. Yet he now faced the challenge of routing the Bolton's from Winterfell and convincing the northern houses that it was in their best interest to kneel to the new queen—and that it wasn't cowardice, though he struggled with that feeling himself; then there were the dangerous omens coming from north of the Wall and the wilding incursions south of it. Not forgetting to mention the problem of having lost Owen Norrey, Talisa's intended, and many of the Norrey forces in the last battle against the Lannister's. He was not looking forward to having to tell Talisa, or his wife, of that. He was equally not looking forward to seeing his wife.

Robb didn't understand how it was she'd come to know of Talisa'a pregnancy before him, or how it was that she'd come to side with Talisa in such a matter without having confided in him. He was still struck dumb with the shock such a thing had rendered upon him. If he were completely honest with himself, as he had been late in the night the day before a battle, he remembered his wife accusing him of never confiding in her, of the threat such actions would bring to their marriage. And then, ironically, she'd gone and done the very thing she'd warned him against. He'd been so overcome with confusion and anger over Sascha's betrayal, and pain from the complete severing of ties between himself and Talisa—evidence by her hand-fasting to Norrey—that he hadn't been able to say anything to Sascha before he'd left.

What could he say? Did he thank her for being such that instead of belittling him or seeking vengeance upon the woman that had nearly cost them their marriage, she'd taken in Talisa and had been in some fashion allied with her? Did he condemn Sascha for not speaking to him about her knowledge of Talisa's condition when he'd begun their marriage with statements that he would do that very thing if he felt it was necessary for his campaign or for the survival of his House? They'd agreed to be honest with one another and to not play games, and in truth no game had been played against him, but Robb still felt that in this matter he'd lost something and he did not like that in the slightest.

"It seems we're to be greeted." Jon Umber spoke from Robb's side, bringing him back from his vast mental wanderings.

He looked up to see his sister Arya and Gendry riding towards them. Arya had grown, even at this distance Robb saw the difference in her, and she was unmistakably a young woman now. Seeing her ride, unattended, with Gendry made Robb frown. Were his mother or his wife aware of this? He looked to Gendry, who rode just behind Arya, but saw no flicker of guilt or shame upon the lad's face—lad no longer. He was a man. This was another matter Robb hadn't been looking forward to handling. His sister was of age to wed but convincing her of that, finding the proper man for her to marry, and dealing with the repercussions of separating her from her bond with this man Gendry were all a massive headache waiting to be inflicted upon Robb's tired mind.

"They're readying for your arrival." Arya spoke when they were close enough to do so without shouting. She looked over Robb's shoulder and then back to Robb. "You look tired."

"And you're not so dirty as you once were." Robb smirked at his sister, momentarily surprised when he spied a blush on her cheeks in direct response to his words. "Did mother send you to meet us then?"

"No," Arya shook her head, moving her horse to walk alongside Robb's while Gendry moved his further back to be near Lord Umber. "Sascha did. She probably thought it'd put you in a good mood to have us meet you."

Robb raised his eyebrows, "Why would she want me to be in a good mood?"

"Well," Arya scratched her temple, "let's just say there's a lot that's changed since you've been gone."

Robb looked over his shoulder towards Gendry and then back at Arya, "I can see that much already." When Arya started to look uncomfortable Robb took pity on her and decided to distract both himself and his sister from the awkward homecoming that they were riding towards. He told her of Sansa.

Cycle of birth and death: Sascha

"Have you seen Arya?"

Sascha looked up from her scribbling for a new machine to see Lady Catelyn poking her head through the tent flap. The weather had been so pleasant lately that she'd decided to work outside and had had a tent erected near the river's edge in which she could work. It was far from quiet, the sounds of the smithies, horse trainers, field hands, and the like all coming together to create the perfect background noise. She preferred working like this, surrounded by the comings and goings of life but undisturbed by it.

She shook her head in reply, "I haven't seen her since this morning. Have you checked the smithies' bailey? Since Lady Brienne's absence, Arya's taken to absconding with my best smithy in order to train with him."

It was true. Poor Gendry had had less time to experiment with his own designs once Brienne and Jamie, with a number of Stark bannermen, had gone north to deal with the Winterfell/Bolton problem. They'd been gone nearly as long as Robb and the rest of his men. The reports they'd been receiving of late from Brienne spoke of much destruction upon Stark lands as well as rumors of an organized wildling invasion. If there were White Walkers moving around north of the Wall, as Robb's half-brother Jon's most recent letter said there were, then Sascha wasn't surprised in the least that wildings would now be trying to come south of the Wall.

When Sascha noticed Lady Catelyn's grimace she smiled, "I wouldn't worry too much about Gendry, Lady Catelyn. He's an honorable lad who would rather burn alive than bring any sort of shame or the like to Arya."

"It's not the lad I have reservations with, it's with the lad's age and the tenacity of Arya herself." Lady Catelyn came into the tent and drew closer, wringing her hands together as she was oft to do when thinking of something upsetting. "She's a woman now and I've seen the way she looks at Gendry."

"Yes," Sascha laughed, covering her mouth to muffle the sound, "like he's a giant puzzle to be solved."

"Oh if it were only that simple." Lady Catelyn dropped into the chair beside her that Sascha had had brought for that specific purpose. She'd hoped Lady Catelyn would come by so that they could talk; there was still much to talk about regarding certain matters.

In the time that Robb had been gone, Lady Catelyn had warmed to Sascha. Be it from Sascha's support of Robb's cause or Sascha herself, she never really stopped to think about that. What was important was that Lady Catelyn confided in Sascha, had opened herself to Sascha, and while their relationship wasn't warm—Sascha doubted any of her relationships could be considered warm—it was affable. They'd found a support system in one another, their linking bond the absentee man on a mission and the things he'd left behind.

A gurgling sound came from within the folds of the shawl Sascha had tied around her body. Lady Catelyn leaned forward as Sascha pulled the shawl back. Bright blue eyes blinked up at them a few times before a high pitched screech met their ears. Considering the miniature lungs and vocal cords the screech was coming from, the cry didn't travel far. Sascha was still dumbfounded that the tiny creature had even survived. Most who were born before their proper time passed away within a few hours or days of birth. But it seemed, in this particular case, the mother had died the death the babe was supposed to have suffered.

Talisa Maegyr had died giving birth prematurely to the bastard child of Robb Stark. That was the truth but only a few dared to whisper it. What was most openly spoken of was the rushed hand-fasting that had occurred between Talisa and Owen Norrey just prior to his departure south. It was during the ceremony that everyone finally saw, or allowed themselves to see, evidence of Talisa's disposition. There'd been some talk of the glowering stares Robb Stark had given the young Norrey man during the ceremony, as well as rumors that the animosity between them had been because of Robb's previous intimacy with the Maegyr woman. Few had spoken ill of Robb for his glares, and many had commended the Norrey man for his stoic reception of Robb's less-than-cordial actions. Some, during the ceremony, had had keen enough eyes to sense a new tension between Robb Stark and his own bride as well: how they did not look at each other, touch each other, or talk to one another before, during, or after the ceremony. They were the ones who were the most aware of the fact that Robb Stark had ridden off Frey lands without a backward glance at the woman.

Sascha keenly remembered the look of betrayal on Robb's face when he'd found her with Talisa in her room, and the anger that had rolled off him in waves, changing the quality of his voice and influencing his mannerisms. She'd seen a new side of him that day, a side that she hoped to never see again. A desperately confused, angry, and despondent man who'd been rendered near mute by the immensity of his emotions. There hadn't been time to explain details and Talisa had surprised Sascha with her refusal to tell him the truth, that the babe was his.

Sascha hadn't been able to say much of anything in that room where he'd found them. Talisa had been the one to break the silence, to explain her reason for being there, and had bravely repeated her request directly to Robb. Sascha had only been able to hear the break in Talisa's resolve, a slight vocal crack towards the end of her words, whereas physically she'd looked a pillar of strength. Robb hadn't been able to say anything at first, staring back and forth between the women before finally looking at Talisa's belly where Talisa had laid her hands, smoothing the dress more firmly over the bulge. That was when Sascha had seen the look of betrayal and had seen the remnants of love that Robb may have felt towards Talisa crack and leak away into the floor. She didn't know how Talisa had managed to receive such a look without defending herself, without breaking the silence and letting Robb know that the child she was carrying was in fact his. How could Robb not know this anyway? Sascha had stepped forward, about to point out that very fact, when he'd turned angry eyes upon her. She'd stopped breathing and moving, nailed to the spot under such a gaze.

His mother and, surprisingly, Owen Norrey had been the ones to come to the room next. Without preamble, Owen had gone to Talisa's side and gently taken her elbow, standing stoic in the face of Robb's ire. Lady Stark looked to have very nearly done the same to Robb, only refraining from doing so because Robb was much too old physically to need such comfort from his mother. Robb had been the first to break the silence, as deafening as it'd become, and had told them to meet him in the bailey with the others. His mother had been right on his heels when he'd left, leaving Owen and Talisa with Sascha. She'd almost gone past them when she'd felt Talisa touch her arm. When Sascha had looked over to Talisa the woman had shaken her head, leaning closer to Owen as she did so. Though Sascha thought the lack of forthrightness was foolhardy, she wouldn't go against Talisa's wishes so long as she was alive—and so long as it didn't physically threaten her new family.

The hand-fasting ceremony had been quick, most of Robb's bannermen and people taken off guard by the abruptness of it, hence the spreading of various rumors. They'd departed immediately after. Robb had hugged Arya goodbye, kissed his mother's cheek, and had barely glanced in her direction before he'd mounted his horse and rode away with his men. Newly hand-fasted Owen Norrey and Talisa had already looked happier than Sascha felt: Owen kissing Talisa's cheek before walking after the rest of his kinsmen within the Stark forces.

That had been near five months ago. Since that time Talisa had grown in her pregnancy and then fallen into premature labor only two weeks before. No one had expected the babe to live, being at least two if not three months too early, and yet here she was, screeching into the air her anger at being both awake and hungry. Sascha shifted in her seat and reached behind to untie the shawl as the wet nurse, who had been slumbering on the cot near the edge of the tent, came to retrieve her. The wet nurse retreated to the cot and set about nursing, the little babe eating greedily as if she could never be satisfied. Considering how much she had to grow to be even normal sized for a babe, Sascha wasn't surprised that the babe ate more than most did. Lady Catelyn had remarked on that fact with a few days of the birth.

"I see little Arra is as hungry as ever." Lady Catelyn watched the nursing child for a moment longer before she turned her gaze towards Sascha. She leaned forward in order to speak in hushed tones, "Why are you doing this?"

Sascha frowned in confusion as she pulled the shawl away, glad for the brief freedom, "What do you mean?"

"She is not your child. There are those who may see your actions as her caretaker now as confirmation that this child is Robb's bastard instead of Norrey's and that you've taken her in for her blood ties to your husband."

While that much was true, Sascha was assured that the name, however, would not be the determining factor in those rumors. The name Arra was neutral. Lady Catelyn had been the one to suggest it when it had become obvious that Sascha was not going to let anyone else take the child. She was named for Rickard Stark's mother, Arra Norrey, who was the ancestral link between the Stark and Norrey houses. With such a name no one could contest either way which house she belonged to.

"Does the possibility of rumors bother you, Lady Catelyn?"

The woman sighed and looked back to the wet nurse and child, "The possibility of threat against her bothers me."

Sascha smiled. Lady Catelyn begrudgingly had warmed to the babe. She'd been momentarily struck dumb when Sascha had announced her new role as the babe's caretaker, having already spoken to what Norrey figures there had been left in the encampment outside the Twins. Sascha had made the offer of having little Arra be considered a ward to the Stark house until Owen Norrey returned and there could be further discussion on what to do with her. They'd offered no arguments, either because Sascha was the liege queen or because they knew in their hearts that the babe could not be of Norrey blood. Lady Catelyn had tried to reason with Sascha, but all her reasoning's had fallen on deaf ears—rendered deaf by little Arra's shrill cries. That was when she'd helped Sascha name the child and she'd been the witness to the little babe's name giving within the sept. Since then, Lady Catelyn had made more effort to be near Arra, even holding her from time to time when the little thing would let her—typically she only allowed Sascha or the wet nurse hold her.

Arra had fallen asleep by this time and the wet nurse made to return her to Sascha. Sascha shook her head and pointed to Lady Catelyn. Though Lady Catelyn was a good deal smaller than Sascha, Arra was still so tiny that she nearly disappeared in Lady Catelyn's arms. Sascha smirked as she watched the puritanical woman rock the baby. She was no stranger to the rumors surrounding Robb's half-brother, Jon Snow, and so she found Lady Catelyn's warmth towards this particular "bastard" to be of some irony. She would leave it for someone else to point out—perhaps Robb if he ever returned—as Sascha would rather maintain the amiable nature they'd developed between them instead of driving her away with reminders of where she'd come short as a hypocrite.

Arya fell inside the tent just then, Gendry right behind her, already offering her a hand up from the ground. Sascha stood, tense and ready for whatever it was had Arya out of breath.

"What is it?" Lady Catelyn spoke first when Arya didn't immediately speak, too busy trying to catch her breath.

"They've returned." Gendry spoke for Arya, his gaze on Sascha as he spoke. "Stark banners were spotted within a few hours of the Twins."

Lady Catelyn stood with a look of mixed joy and fear. The last they'd heard from Robb, just prior to Talisa's death, he'd been in King's Landing to speak with the Khaleesi herself regarding the matter of Winterfell, and the north as a whole. He'd glossed over the details of the campaign, though they hadn't had to hear directly from Robb to know of the destruction the Dothraki had rendered upon the countryside, or of the terrifying attacks from the dragons who followed the new ruler of King's Landing. Now the Stark's were returning, but none of them knew the nature of their return: in complete triumph or in retreat from the Iron Throne's queen.

"Did the reports say anything about their pace? Did they look to be under pursuit?"

Gendry shook his head, "No, your grace, the report said that the forces returning were smaller than those that left but nothing more."

Sascha nodded, nibbling on her lower a lip for a moment. She took hold of the shawl and retied it around her body, taking Arra from Lady Catelyn when the woman held her out to her. She spoke up once the babe was safely tucked away close to Sascha's heart, shielded from light and sound by the shawl.

"Gendry please go alert those at the keep of the soon arrival then get two horses from the stables and wait at the bridge." He nodded and left the tent without another word. "Arya, do you think you could help me?"

"What do you want me to do?" The girl raised an eyebrow at Sascha.

Sascha sighed, "Ride out to meet your brother, with Gendry."

"Why do you want me to do that?"

"Please, just go Arya." Lady Catelyn spoke up before Sascha could. Arya looked between the two women before she sighed and nodded. Once she was gone Lady Catelyn looked over to Sascha for a silent moment before she stepped forward and took hold of Sascha's hand. "You won't be alone, Sascha, I'll be right beside you."

Sascha smiled and squeezed the older woman's hand. Once she couldn't have imagined a moment where she would've found comfort in having Lady Catelyn by her side. But now, in facing the husband who had angrily abandoned her months before, with his bastard child now hanging around her neck, Sascha found the fact to be of immense comfort.


	8. A Name and a Future

_My sincerest apologies for the long hiatus. I appreciate the support and encouragement from your reviews and I look forward to any critiques or pointers in future ones. Though delayed in coming, I hope you enjoy this brief update. I am working on the next bit already, but I'm sure those of who have been with this story from the beginning realize by now that it'll be a wee bit before an update. Thanks again for your patience. Enjoy and cheers!_

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A Name and a Future: Sascha

Their reunion, if it could be called such, had been almost as strained and disjointed as their parting months prior. Sascha shook her head as she allowed the memory, not so far from the present moment, to come back to the forefront of her mind. She'd met Robb and his men in the courtyard, her Lady Mother Catelyn by her side and little Arra strapped to the front of her body. Arya had entered the courtyard at Robb's side, her expression difficult to read but Sascha understood enough from the combination of Arya's looks and Robb's that even if he'd come back with good news he was not exactly ecstatic to be coming back at all. Gendry had followed with the rest of Robb's noble bannermen, he and Arya melting into the background of the events as quickly as possible after the arrival. That was something Sascha envied about the young Stark and her bastard friend; they could near come and go as they pleased while she was left to lead and maintain appearances.

Even after dismounting, his horse being led to the stables, Robb had not said anything, though his eyes had immediately spied the wriggling bundle and from there traveled about the courtyard seeking out, no doubt, the form of Talisa. Not finding the woman, he'd brought his gaze back to the bundle, and Sascha, but still said nothing. Instead he'd embraced his mother and exchanged pleasantries with her before moving to stand awkwardly in front of Sascha. He'd looked older, weather-beaten, exhausted, but still with the youth that was his age about the edges of his face. While the campaign had been long and difficult, the victories they'd achieved at the end had helped reinvigorate the man before her, allowing him to stand taller than when he'd left with an uncertain future. Sascha marveled, silently of course, at how the man before her had grown from the boy she'd met so long before; what felt to be a lifetime before in fact.

"Wife." His voice had been low, barely audible over the din of horse hooves echoing on flagstone and the other men reuniting with their kin.

It had been at that moment that Sascha had recalled the amount of times he'd voluntarily taken her into his arms, and had also been aware of it: once. It'd been when he'd embraced her with joy at the completion of the war machines; the moment had been brief but she still remembered it clearly. But aside from that, and the nights when he'd mistaken her for Talisa, they'd never exchanged physical affection in public. Of course, before the divisive strain put upon them prior to his departure, she had felt desire to touch him but had always refrained; knowing that it was not the time or place, and they had not the type of relationship that would allow such things. There was also the fact that aside from perhaps one or two odd moments, she'd never received any indication from Robb that he'd even want to touch her. In any regards, it seemed that now would be no different from before, even though it had been nearly half a year since they'd last seen one another. The babe squirming in her swaddling cloth further aided in the lack of affection between husband and wife, its presence testimony of all the reasons why this was no ordinary marriage.

"Husband." She'd replied, tempted to say more but stopped when Arra let out a cry, begging to be fed once more.

They'd all adjourned from there and Sascha hadn't been left alone with Robb again until that evening in their bedchambers. Even though he was back Sascha didn't deviate from the routine she'd set up with little Arra. She wanted the babe to associate her with comfort and security as much as possible, since Sascha couldn't also supply sustenance. In Robb's absence, Sascha had converted the small adjoining chamber to their room into the wet nurse's sleeping quarters and also had the babe's bed placed there. She made sure to put Arra to sleep every night, wake her in the morning, and would even check in on her when she cried at night. When Robb had been gone this hadn't been a problem, the few times she'd brought Arra back into her own bedchamber to sleep with her on especially fussy nights. But now that her husband was back, and given just who Arra was—though Robb had yet to know—Sascha knew that for at least a little while that part of the routine would be interrupted.

It had been after she'd put Arra to sleep, when she'd returned to her bedchamber, that she'd found Robb standing near her writing table. He was looking through her new designs, falling into the habit they'd begun before he left. He asked her about a few of them and Sascha had mentally sighed with relief. He was, in a small fashion, attempting to bring normalcy back to their relationship. It wasn't the best made bridge between them, but Sascha latched onto it and followed through by coming to stand beside him, explaining the designs in much the same way as she had before. After she'd finished explaining the last design and they'd both retired to the bed, a large gulf of mattress between them, it was then that Robb had asked after Talisa. And it was after she'd told him of Talisa's death that Robb had spoken, his voice roughened with emotion, of Owen Norrey's death as well.

Her sleep had been fitful that evening, her dreams filled with images of a future for Arra Norrey that was dark and once, in the early hours when she'd awakened, she thought she'd heard a sleeping Robb moan in what must've been grief. Sascha had risen then, taking Arra with her, had gone to speak with the Norrey representatives. They'd already been informed of Owen's death and found no reason to negate Arra's wardship with the Stark family. If anything, Sascha sighed, the Norrey representatives almost looked relieved that Owen was dead, along with Talisa, and little Arra had no real reason to be their responsibility anymore. Why should she be when all knew whose child she was, even if they didn't say in public, and that her father was not the recently deceased Owen Norrey?

Thus Arra Norrey was left once more in Sascha's care and now she had a decision to make. With Talisa gone, the war over, and now the business of reclaiming the north coming, did she tell Robb that the babe she held close to her heart almost constantly was in fact his daughter? Would he listen to her if she brought up the subject? Would he be amiable to the idea of formally accepting the child? Or would he reject her, forcing her to remain a Norrey-not-Norrey, or even transfer her to a Snow status?

When she'd taken her questions to Lady Stark she'd been met with a blank stare. It seemed that Catelyn Stark was still adjusting to the ironic fact that she held her grandchild in high affection, in spite of the bastard status, and so had no advice to offer Sascha in regards to what she should say to Robb. It had been Arya, sitting in the corner of the room whittling a stick toy for Arra, who'd given Sascha her answer.

"Sansa's gone, married to a Lannister and who knows when or if we'll see her again," _snick,_ the knife had seemed to punctuate her sentences as she spoke and whittled at the same time, "Bran and Rickon are gone in the same way as father," _snick_ and sigh, "Jon's on the Wall and we're here." She'd set aside the knife and brushed off the stick before looking up at both Sascha and Catelyn with tired eyes, far older with what they'd seen than they needed to be. "That little girl is my niece," she'd pointed to the bundle in Sascha's arms, "and she'll be my niece until I die. If anyone tries to say different," Arya had tossed her knife in the air then caught it and put it away before speaking again, "well then, they won't have much to say after that now will they?"

With Arya as an ally, Sascha had then determined to lay before Robb her idea. Of course, in order to be successful she needed to plan out how and when she'd present it otherwise he'd overreact, underreact, or anything in between. It would also be best to have someone else, probably Lady Stark, with her when she did the presenting as well, thus keeping Robb from a possible retreat. On the eve of the second day since his return, Sascha presented her plan to Lady Stark and they decided the following evening would be as good of time as any.

They were all set to leave the Twins within a fortnight, heading north into lands reclaimed by their northern allies, reported to them by the faithful Lady Brienne. There would be chaos in their travels north, as well as an undetermined time stamp on when or if they'd get to Winterfell. It would be best to have the decision regarding Arra be made now instead of later. Sascha knew that she could not relinquish Arra, that she would not, not now, but she needed to know what name, what future, Robb intended for his daughter. That would determine much of their future as husband and wife as well, for Sascha knew she could not respect or grow to affectionately regard a man who discarded a child he'd made out of wedlock.

"Look at that." Sascha looked up from spearing a piece of meat on her trencher, her thoughts over the previous days clearing away. Lady Stark's voice had drawn near, the woman's head dipping down and moving closer to the bundle Sascha had strapped to her chest. "She's smiling." Lady Stark raised her eyes towards Sascha's and the two women exchanged a silent look before Lady Stark leaned back into her chair and resumed eating. It seemed her lady mother was just as nervous about the coming conversation with Robb as she was, considering the food upon her trencher was being pushed around more than consumed.

Sascha looked over towards Robb and sucked in a breath. Not for the first time since his return, Robb's focus was on Arra. His expression was difficult to read but his focus was so intent upon the babe that it took a few moments for him to look up and realize that she'd been studying him for nearly as long as he'd been studying the babe. At her questioning look he shook his head returned his attention to his meal. Unlike Sascha and Catelyn, his appetite seemed to be perfectly fine and he finished not long after he'd pushed Sascha from his attention. Sascha sighed and looked down to Arra. The infant had been fed not long before and so should not prove to be fussy for some time yet. She was sleeping now, an amazing feat considering the noise of the room, but Sascha knew the babe would wake up soon enough and be active for a while just prior to going back to sleep for the remainder night. She hoped that Arra didn't fuss during the coming conversation; that would most likely acerbate the situation.

Looking up from Arra, Sascha looked back to Robb whose gaze now rested upon Arya and Gendry. There was a frown on his face and Sascha didn't need to be a mind reader to know what it was that bothered him about what he saw. He saw what Sascha saw, only he saw more problem with it than Sascha. While it was true that being of noble birth carried with it certain responsibilities and expectations—Sascha was sitting here the result of that—it was also true that Arya, though noble, was an exception in and of herself. Perhaps she would temper herself over time, but there was no possible way Robb would be successful in getting his sister married off to a titled lord. Arya would most likely run away, taking Gendry with her.

Being her elder brother, and the Lord of Winterfell, Robb would know this and so he might already be pondering a way to separate Gendry from Arya, an idea Sascha was against namely because the lad was a great craftsman. If Robb made an issue of Gendry's relationship with Arya then Gendry would do the honorable thing, Sascha knew this, and would disappear for the sake of Arya's honor. Though he had less that spectacular origins, Gendry was a good lad and was more than deserving of a good future. Sascha selfishly didn't want anything to force the lad away, and she also, being a Frey, didn't see a problem with a nobleman's bastard marrying a noblewoman.

Oh yes, she knew Gendry was the bastard child of a nobleman. It had taken a few weeks of his being at the Twins but then she'd remembered, her memories coming together and solidifying after he'd dropped a few names and references in their passing conversations. She'd then inquired directly after the name of the smithy he'd apprenticed under and at the name of Tobho Mott, Sascha's initial thoughts had been confirmed and it all made sense. She'd nearly keeled over in laughter, in fact, at the circle that'd been made of events.

It had been around the second year she and Robar had been in King's Landing, the first year she'd met Tyrion Lannister and they'd begun to form their makeshift friendship with one another. Robar had gone out somewhere in the city to fulfill a request made by Jon Arryn and had left Sascha with Tyrion at the marketplace. It wasn't uncommon in those days to see Robar and Sascha wandering around with Tyrion; none of them cared about rumors and all of them skirted around the drama that was so often at court those days. Robar had no reason to think that Sascha or Tyrion would do anything improper together either, even if such rumors were tossed at him; in fact, the three of them had jested once or twice over the matter and what had been created to divide them only served to bring them into closer comradery.

Because of the heat that particular day, and the fact that she was recovering from a stomach problem, Tyrion had suggested they duck inside a tavern for some refreshment while they waited for Robar's return. It hadn't been the most respectable of taverns, and they had both received various sneering looks of judgment, but for the most part they'd been left alone, with Sascha's entourage of guards standing nearby aiding in that matter. At that tavern, Sascha had been the one to notice the boy. When she'd rushed out back to use the garderobe she'd seen him, sitting in the small, filthy courtyard behind the tavern, tinkering with some pewters. After she'd relieved herself, Sascha had drawn closer to inspect the work and had been astounded at the designs and skills made by one so young. When she'd inquired about the boy with the tavern owner she'd been told the boy was a nobelman's bastard, his mother never revealing his parentage to the tavern owner. The tavern owner hadn't quite known what to do with the boy who'd so recently lost his mother and so had left the boy to etch out his room and board by cleaning and repairing various things around the tavern.

It had actually been Tyrion's idea, not Sascha's, to find an apprenticeship for the boy. When she'd made mention of the idea to Robar that evening it had been he who'd reminded Sascha of her connection with Tobho Mott. In her work, at that time still fairly concealed from the eyes of court, she'd done business with Mott and so had a relationship with him with which to work with. Together, the three of them had hatched the plan and here she was reaping the benefits of that day all those years ago. The boy had looked quite different then, and she'd never been given his name, so it wasn't too ridiculous that it'd taken her quite a bit of time to make the connections. But still, the gods certainly had a sense of humor, to bring that boy into her life again now. It was not so strange either that from the very moment she'd seen him she'd felt akin to him; that she'd kept wanting to take his side and support him in the face of Lady Stark's accusations, as well as Robb's.

Sascha felt something nudge her leg and looked up to see Lady Stark pointedly looking towards Robb. He was finished with his meal, his drink, and looked to be contemplating leaving the table. She brought her focus back to the matter at hand, and not on a future argument in favor of Gendry's possible match with Arya—of which she already knew she'd be in favor.

"My lord," Sascha had taken to calling him by his title while in public, showing that she'd accepted his "demotion" without issue. A show of solidarity was important in such matters; she'd learned that from her days at King's Landing. Robb looked over to her, his expression one of guarded fatigue, not an easy expression to speak to but she pressed on nonetheless. "I would appreciate a moment of your time." He raised an eyebrow at her request and she knew he was already trying to figure out why she'd be making such a formal request. She gestured towards Catelyn and added, "Your lady mother would also like to join us."

He frowned and his eyes darted between Sascha and his mother, trying to guess what it was they were trying to do. Only a moment more passed before he sighed, nodding to her, and stood. Catelyn was able to rise and follow him more quickly than Sascha, who had to have help in getting out of the chair thanks to Arra's swaddling cloth. She also walked more slowly towards the door where Robb and his mother waited for her in order to make eye contact with Arya. She gave the girl a nod, who nodded in return before leaning forward to whisper something to Gendry, who also glanced up just as Sascha made it to the door and walked through with Robb and Catelyn.

Robb decided to have the audience in the council room. Sascha hid her smile, glad that he was doing exactly what she'd hoped he'd do. Once in the room she immediately went to the table to sit down whereas Catelyn went to the large window and stared out into the night, the lights from the tent-city beyond the walls like flickering stars set upon the land. Sascha looked from the nightscape down at Arra and saw the little girl still slept, though had begun to grow restless as she often did right before waking up.

Robb closed the door and spoke, "What is it that you wish to speak to me about?" He paused and she looked up to see that he was looking again between her and his mother. "That you both wish to speak to me about."

"Robb, the business with Norrey," Lady Catelyn took a breath then rushed on, "The sudden hand fasting of Owen Norrey and Talisa Maegyr-" her voice died away and her eyes sought out Sascha's then.

"What of it?" Robb sounded frustrated and Sascha felt his eyes fall upon her but she still did not meet his eyes. She didn't want to meet his eyes, not until she'd gathered her own courage. "Do you wish to speak of the fact that my wife knew of the relationship between Norrey and Talisa and did not tell me?" Sascha closed her eyes. She didn't feel ashamed by this truth, because there was more to the story than just that, but Robb did have a point that she hadn't been as forthright with him as she should've been. "Do you wish to speak of her approval of the relationship and the hand fasting, again without my council?" Again Sascha inwardly shuddered, recalling their argument prior to their nuptials, of her prediction that their marriage would be a failure if they weren't willing to openly speak with one another. "Or do you wish to speak of her adoption of their child, all without consulting me or awaiting my approval?" It seemed that it'd been she, and not Robb, who'd gone and ruined their marriage.

Sascha finally spoke, "Your child."

"What did you say?"

"I said," Sascha looked up. She let the pain of her dreams over Arra's possible future shine through her eyes. She let the pain she continued to feel over her own possible future with Robb shine through. She leveled her gaze on Robb and watched him tense in response, "your child."

"I don't understand." He moved to take hold of a chair, Sascha finding a twisted pleasure in seeing that her words had already upset him.

Lady Catelyn spoke up, "Robb, the child-" but her voice again began to lose power and so Sascha interrupted.

"Owen Norrey hand fasted himself to Talisa Maegyr in order to protect her and to give her unborn child a name. I have no knowledge of whether or not he bore considerable love for Talisa but in what little she told me and what I observed, he at least had affection for her and she him. Even so, what was between them was enough that he would be willing to be the brunt of future rumors regarding his wife and his bairn. But," Sascha reached up and began to untie the swaddling cloth, "this child is not the offspring of Owen Norrey and Talisa Maegyr."

"I don't-" Robb watched Sascha's movements with a grave expression, his mouth open in shock. He looked to be having trouble breathing. The twisted pleasure she'd momentarily had before was gone now and only sadness remained.

Sascha pulled the swaddling cloth away and stared down at Arra. She was awake now, blinking the world into forcus. She heard Lady Catelyn speaking, "Arra Norrey would be rightly named Arra Stark but the risk of not being recognized or accepted drove Talisa to seek out another, in order to avoid the name Snow."

Sascha stood up and moved towards Robb. Arra began to stretch as she always did upon waking, reaching out with hands and feet, as if she could grasp hold of the ends of the earth and tug them into her arms. Sascha was glad that Arra didn't cry as she yawned once, twice, then turned her head this way and that in order to take in the details of her environment. Robb came closer but did not reach out for the babe. He instead stared down at the girl with a look of mixed shock and fear. Sascha wasn't quite sure what was going on inside her husband's head now but there was no going back from what else needed to be said.

"She is your daughter Robb," he glanced up at her, Sascha having used his name for the first time since he'd returned. "And for that I have brought her into the family without your consent. She is your blood and therefore she is mine and I could not abide by not having her here." Sascha hoped he could hear her conviction, hoped he could see the truth of her words, and hoped he could see the support she had within his mother, who stepped closer and nodded. Sascha looked back to Robb, "It does not matter to me what others say about me, about my reasons for doing what I've done, or even about her. I'm a Frey after all, and there've rumors aplenty following my heels all these years." She shook her head and sighed. "She is but a child, innocent of the sins of her parents. But Robb, she will grow and she will hear rumors."

Sascha watched as Robb closed his eyes. His body seemed to grow smaller then, swaying slightly. A look of anguish crossed his face and Sascha thought she heard a groan come from deep within his chest. This was a lot to take in, she knew that, and so did not try to push further. Robb had loved Talisa, even if in the end he'd doubted her loyalty to him. Robb would've married Talisa and they could now be raising Arra together, had it not been for a bridge and a campaign and Sascha. Sascha had had to come to terms with her own guilt, though she recognized the fact that none of this was her fault, that if it were not her standing here it could've been one of her sisters or worse yet, none of them could be standing here at all because her father would've done something horrid in retaliation for the oath being broken.

When Robb opened his eyes and looked down at little Arra Norrey, Sascha felt her breath catch in her throat. His expression was different now. More resigned but still there was something there that Sascha couldn't discern. She still could not tell what it was he intended to do, what decision he would make regarding Arra's future.

"What," Robb's voice was strange sounding when he spoke again and he looked up at her with such vulnerability that Sascha had to fight the desire to stroke his face, "what would you have me do to quell such rumors?"

Sascha offered him a half smile as she spoke, "Give her your name." She held Arra out towards him and at first he looked at her, horrified that she'd do so, but then she moved closer and near dumped the child into his arms. Of course she didn't let go quickly, and stayed nearby in case Robb did panic and drop the child. But after a moment of shock, Robb's features softened and Sascha was reassured that he would not drop her. Though she and Robb were not that much different in stature, it seemed the Robb dwarfed Arra to such a degree that she seemed smaller than usual, held as she was by her father. Robb looked back to Sascha and she spoke again, "Give her a future, Robb."

* * *

A Name and a Future: Robb

As they ate the evening meal together, Robb found it difficult to take his eyes off his wife's chest. Of course, it wasn't her chest that he was staring at, but the tiny bundle she had near permanently strapped there. He'd been back at the Twins for three days now and in that time he'd only ever seen Sascha without the bundle when the baby required nursing and at night when the baby slept in the adjoining chamber with her wet nurse. Though Sascha still was the one to put the baby to sleep and to take the baby as soon as she rose in the morning; even then it seemed that she was not without the influence of the child. She didn't always stay in bed at night either. Robb was very much aware of each and every time she rose when the baby cried and had himself risen to leave that morning when Sascha had brought the disquieted babe back into their chamber, the babe having awakened earlier than the previous two days. He knew Sascha had been trying to keep the baby quiet as she returned to work at her writing desk but Robb hadn't been asleep anyway. They'd not exchanged words when he'd gotten up from the bed and quickly changed and left. In fact, they'd not exchanged many words regardless since his return.

He felt his wife's eyes upon his face and looked up to see that she was indeed staring at him, her expression guarded but curious. He shook his head and turned his attention back to his meal. They'd yet to really talk with one another about personal matters, regarding their relationship at least. In the time he'd been back the news had spread of the treaty with the Queen of the South, the conditions of that treaty, and of their impending return to the north. That, combined with Sascha's preoccupation with the babe, left little time for them to discuss anything else. Robb, he knew, had not attempted to discuss anything else in fact. Once he'd been informed of the loss of Talisa and he'd told Sascha of Owen Norrey, and had been informed of the babe's status as their ward, Robb felt that there was little left to be said regarding what had happened just prior to his departure almost half a year before. Decisions had been made without his consent or counsel then and it seemed that trend had continued even in his absence.

Robb swallowed the last of his food and chased it down with the last of his wine. He shook his head at the servant who'd stepped forward to refill. Leaning back in his chair he allowed his eyes to travel over the others who sat upon the dais with him. His mother was on the other side of Sascha, at times leaning over to say something to Sascha, and to the babe as if it were aware of the interactions. It was odd for Robb to see his mother act in such a way; he couldn't remember her ever acting that way with any of his siblings and had certainly never expected to see her act that way towards any child outside of her own family. When he'd tried to speak to her privately about Sascha's bond with the child, his mother had been reluctant to talk about the child at all, further rendering strange the tender interactions such as what he was seeing now.

He let his eyes wander further until they rested on the next member of his family. Arya was not on the dais, preferring to sit on the main floor beside Gendry at one of the long benches shared with the rest of his bannermen. When he'd mentioned that fact to his mother upon his second night back, she'd merely shrugged and said that they'd all been too preoccupied with other matters to really address the issue up to that point. Robb interpreted that to mean that neither his mother nor Sashcha saw the growing intimacy between Gendry and Arya to be a problem and so had purposefully overlooked it. Robb frowned. Arya was of marriageable age now and with the war done with, and the situation in the north looking more and more manageable, he would have to start thinking of possible suitors for her. It also seemed that he would have to find a way to separate her from Gendry, without doing harm to the younger lad. Sascha would never forgive him for taking away one of her best craftsmen.

Thinking of the news from the north, Robb began to stroke his temple, thankful for the distraction from images of his youngest sister possible nuptials. The letters his wife had received from Lady Brienne in his absence had given him more hope than he'd expected to find. It seemed that most of the families who had once pledged fealty to his father, but who had remained behind in the north, were willing to pledge fealty to him—though they'd yet to be informed that he would no longer be considered King of the North but instead Warden. While she'd also written of some near assassination attempts against Jamie Lannister by these rekindled allies, she'd also informed Sascha, and through her Robb himself, that Jamie Lannister was indeed proving to be an able swordsmen and quite able in repaying whatever debt he felt he owed Sascha.

Robb allowed his gaze to wander, albeit briefly, back to Sascha. She'd returned her attention to her food and had resumed poking at it more than eating it. Something was preoccupying her thoughts, that much was obvious, and had been ever since his return. One of the most likely things would be the child hanging around her neck but somehow Robb felt there was something more going on, connected to the babe but still more than just that. There was a gravity about his wife that hadn't been there before he'd left. Or, at least, that he hadn't seen since they'd been married and had managed to form a bond of sorts. As she was now, aloof yet polite, firm yet reserved, she reminded him of the woman who'd first strode into his tent and demanded that he accompany her back to the Twins to fulfill his oath.

In the time that he'd been gone Sascha had seemed to age; doubtless, Robb had too. While she was still confident powerful looking, alluring in an otherworldly and unexpected way, she did not seem to effuse the same strength that she had before he'd left. Perhaps it was connected to how they'd left one another, and she'd been as bothered by it as he over the past months. Perhaps it was connected to Talisa's death, and now Norrey's too, which in turn would directly connect to the child in her arms now. Or perhaps it was the fact that soon, in a fortnight to be certain, they would be leaving her childhood home and heading into an uncertain future in the north.

Robb swerved his gaze away before Sascha because aware of it and looked down at the rest of his bannermen. They were all tired and ready to return home. Some had homes that had yet to be threatened by the Bolton/Ironborn incursion whereas others, himself included, had only a massive rebuilding after reconquering to look forward to once they left these lands. Of course, Lady Brienne had spoken of forces gathering amongst the families that were still up north, together with some free folk who had come down through the Wall, all in preparation to attack the Bolton's and Ironborn who remained within Winterfell and its surrounding area. The free folk joining in with the landed families had surprised Robb but through Sascha, or at least the letter she'd given him from Jon, it seemed that many of the free folk who were now south of the Wall owed their lives to the new Lord Commander of the Wall.

It seemed just as much had happened in the north during his time away from the Twins as it had in the south. Almost the entirety of the day before, Robb had spent reading through letters and writing replies, his mind reeling with all the new information. Not the least of which was Jon's promotion to Lord Commander. After the organized uprising of wildlings and the unsuccessful invasion they'd launched against the Wall, Jon had been promoted to Lord Commander and had somehow managed to create a treaty between the leading representatives of the wildings that hadn't been killed off in the fighting. Only a few at a time were allowed through the Wall, and even then only those who had ancestral ties to the families that remained in the North. The others were allowed to make camp near enough to the Wall, but never south of it, not without permission. In exchange the Nights Watch protected them from the increasingly dangerous elements that were lurking just beyond their borders. Robb still had yet to fully believe the rumors he read of in Jon's letters, or those he heard from the merchants who had stopped by the Twins on their way south. Tales of undead, White Walkers, and more. Needless to say, rumors aside, it was an odd and unexpected turn of events and Robb still couldn't quite wrap his mind around it.

Thinking of his bastard brother, Robb smirked. He had only a bastard brother now. Two sisters and a bastard brother. The man he'd considered a brother, Theon Greyjoy, would soon find his death at the end of Robb's blade in repayment for the destruction he'd wrought against Winterfell. Robb had always found his friendship with Theon to be of closer warmth than what he'd felt towards Jon but now he realized, in retrospect, that while he'd always respected his bastard brother he also had felt oddly intimidated by him. The fact that Jon was now Lord Commander had been what had brought this fact to light. Jon had always been set apart from the rest of them, and not just because of his origins or status as a bastard. He'd had an ethereal quality about him, a quiet steadiness that the rest of them had not had—at least no one except their father. Robb could easily imagine him as the diplomatic Lord Commander of the Wall but had a difficult time wrapping his mind around the idea that any free folk would desire to aid landed folk in a politically driven uprising.

He'd been raised with a healthy respect for the free folk, for their willingness to stand their ground in spite of their surroundings, but also with the idea that free folk could not fully be trusted. A people with no loyalty but to themselves were a people who had no cause to fight for; at least, that's what his father had taught him.

"My lord," Sascha leaned closer to speak to him, turning his mind away from his father. The change of title had seemed to come easily for her but then again she had lived in King's Landing long enough to adapt to hierarchical changes quickly. "I would appreciate a moment of your time." Robb raised an eyebrow. Why on earth would she be asking to talk to him, publicly, when she could just wait until they were in their bedchambers later? "Your lady mother would also like to join us."

Robb frowned and looked between his mother and his wife. What were they up to? Realizing he had no choice in the matter, at least not if he wanted to get any semblance of sleep that evening, Robb nodded before he pushed away from the table. Somehow he felt that whatever conversation they were about to have would not best had in the privacy of his bedchambers. If Sascha had felt the need to ask for an audience in public then it would be best that they have this conversation in private, but with the public eye close enough about to ease the nerves of his wife and mother, as it was obvious to him that they were tense with nervousness.

He waited until they were all situated in the room, his mother by the tall window along the wall and Sascha sitting alone at the great table, the door closed behind him, before he spoke, "What is it that you wish to speak to me about?" He glanced over at his mother then back to Sascha, who had up till the moment kept her gaze upon the slumber babe swaddled to her chest. "That you both wish to speak to me about."

"Robb, the business with Norrey," his mother spoke first and Robb raised his eyebrows at her. An interesting turn of phrase to use, considering, and interesting that of all people she would be the one to broach the subject now. "The sudden hand fasting of Owen Norrey and Talisa Maegyr-"

When her voice faltered Robb interjected, "What of it?" His expression turned bitter and he looked from his mother to his wife, who continued to irk him with her lack of eye contact. "Do you wish to speak of the fact that my wife knew of the relationship between Norrey and Talisa and did not tell me? Do you wish to speak of her approval of the relationship and the handfasting, again without my council? Or do you wish to speak of her adoption of their child, all without consulting me or awaiting my approval?"

"Your child."

Robb turned his glare back towards Sascha, "What did you say?"

"I said," Sascha finally looked up and the hardness of her eyes made Robb's stomach clench, "your child."

Robb reached out and took hold of the back of a nearby chair, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe, "I don't understand."

"Robb, the child-"

Sascha interrupted his mother, "Owen Norrey hand fasted himself to Talisa Maegyr in order to protect her and to give her unborn child a name. I have no knowledge of whether or not he bore considerable love for Talisa but in what little she told me and what I observed, he at least had affection for her and she him. Even so, what was between them was enough that he would be willing to be the brunt of future rumors regarding his wife and his bairn. But," Sascha reached up and began to untie the swaddling cloth, "this child is not the offspring of Owen Norrey and Talisa Maegyr."

"I don't-" Robb's throat tightened and his words failed him. Somehow he'd known but hadn't wanted to admit the truth to himself. There was no way Talisa could've fallen with child with any man but he; he'd been her first lover and they'd been together so often just prior to his renewed contract with Frey, that it would've been impossible for her to take another lover. And then there had not been enough time passed for her to grow so large as she had been before he'd left. How could he have doubted her? How could he have treated her as he had?

"Arra Norrey would be rightly named Arra Stark but the risk of not being recognized or accepted drove Talisa to seek out another, in order to avoid the name Snow." His mother spoke up again, her voice soft. Robb found it ironic that she was the one to say that, her history with Jon and such.

Sascha stood up and held the little girl in her arms. Robb watched as the tiny infant stretched fisted hands over her head, arching her torso, and kicking out her feet as she woke up. She didn't cry, but peered out at the world around her from a face that was unmistakably Stark-ish in quality. He'd not spent time looking at the child directly prior to this moment; he'd not wanted to. But now, with the truth literally staring at him in the face, Robb drew closer. He could see traces of Talisa in the cheekbones and wide forehead, but everything else was Stark. She blinked at him and he her. His child. His daughter. He looked up to Sascha, still at a loss of what to say, at a loss of what it was he was feeling now.

"She is your daughter Robb and for that I have brought her into the family without your consent. She is your blood and therefore she is mine and I could not abide by not having her here." Sascha looked over towards his mother, who also stepped closer, then back to Robb. "It does not matter to me what others say about me, about my reasons for doing what I've done, or even about her. I'm a Frey after all, and there've rumors aplenty following my heels all these years. She is but a child, innocent of the sins of her parents. But Robb, she will grow and she will hear rumors."

Robb closed his eyes. Shame filled him then. Shame for ruining a possible future Talisa could've had, had she never fallen in with him. Shame for near breaking his oath with Frey—though in reality, Sascha was holding proof that he had broken his oath. Shame for doubting Talisa's loyalty to him and condemning her before he left. Shame for driving her to seek another with his indifference—though the indifference had been out a sense of loyalty towards maintaining a treaty for the necessity of winning a war. And shame for not recognizing his own blood within his daughter; not seeing the reasons why Sascha would've done as she had, and all without consulting him. Robb had condemned his wife as impulsively as he'd condemned Talisa. His wife. His unwanted wife, who had proved to be one of the most valuable assets he could've ever gained in this war.

When he opened his eyes and looked down at little Arra Norrey, Robb felt bile rise in his throat. He imagined the future for Arra Norrey and it was joyless. She would find joy enough raised by her guardians, Robb and Sascha, and she would find acceptance enough with the siblings of her guardians. But outside their walls, Arra Norrey would be buffeted with whispers of a whore mother, of bastard origins, of the fact that no one had been proud enough of her to claim her truly in order to give her her proper name. What sort of future could that hold? What sort of man of noble birth would want to marry a woman with such rumors attached to her name?

"What," Robb swallowed the lump in his throat and cleared his voice, "what would you have me do to quell such rumors?"

He already knew what it was his wife wanted to say but he needed to hear her say it. He needed the assurance of her voice to bolster his own convictions. Not long ago he'd balked at the idea of marrying a Frey, of seeing anything good from the Frey alliance aside from the bridge and some men. But now, staring at Sascha, the grief of things undone, of people dead but not forgotten, and the immensity of what was to come next all weighing in on him, Robb knew that there was no way he could move past this moment without Sascha. That his mother was here, having this conversation with him, proved to Robb that even his mother agreed with whatever future Sascha saw within this child.

"Give her your name." Sascha held the child out towards him and at first he looked at her, horrified that she'd do so, but then she moved closer and near dumped the child into his arms. She was so tiny, he could hold her in one hand, part of her body draped onto his wrist and forearm. She did not cry at the abrupt change. She continued to watch the world around her with eyes that seemed far more knowing that an infants should be. Robb looked to his wife again and her expression, though still guarded, held a light of hope. "Give her a future, Robb."


	9. How to Woo a Wife

_Thank you again for the continued support of the story. I'm trying something new with this chapter, let me know if it works or not or if you prefer what I had before. Also, this chapter is almost pure fluff and fun. I rather wanted something sweet and calm since the family has been through so much and they're about to get put through the ringer again. Oh, the martial arts Robb will refer to is like tai chi and I'm obviously taking some liberty by having Sascha know something like that but the reasons why will come to light later. Thanks in advance for any critiques or reviews. Cheers!_

* * *

A New Campaign: Robb

_Tall. Wide shoulders and hips; strong muscles, unexpected. Thick hair, longer now than before, looked soft to the touch. Clear skin, often pink from exertion. Healthy teeth, of what he could see in the elusive smile. Hearty laugh, rarely if ever the result of something he said. Capable. Strong and true character-_

"Are you thinking on our northern campaign?"

Robb started and turned his gaze towards his companion. "Pardon?"

Lord Umber laughed, "You've been off with the clouds all morning. I assumed you were thinking about what we're to encounter north of Tully borders."

"Oh," Robb shifted in his saddle, feeling guilt as that was not at all what he'd been thinking about, "While the reports assured us that we should have a clear route all the way through the Neck, it is beyond that point where things may grow more difficult."

He briefly looked over his shoulder at the rest of the company before he sighed and looked forward again. In preparation for their move from the Frey lands, he'd sent a contingency of men north of the Twins to secure the route. They would continue northward in this fashion, men going before the majority of the group to ensure its safety before reporting back for the rest of the company to continue onward or stay for a time, until the soldiers could deal with whatever threat they'd encountered. It would be slow going and not without its threats and difficulties but it was the only way they could move this many people, not all of who were armed and trained as fighting men.

Lord Umber nodded, "Beyond the Neck is where the Bolton's seem to have clouded the minds of our allies with fear and nonsense."

Robb silently agreed. As she'd traveled north, Brienne of Tarth had complied a list of vassal houses still loyal and openly so to the Starks as well as a list of houses who seemed to be loyal to no one but themselves. The latter list far outweighed the former. Even when they ousted the Bolton's, and they would indeed oust them, it seemed that they would have quite a time securing their borders against further rebellions. Robb knew that he now had the tentative support of the Iron Throne's queen in what he did, but that meant little in all reality. She had too much to take care of within her own borders to care much about petty arguments between the great houses in the north. Would she step in to help him defeat the Bolton's? Perhaps, but only if absolutely necessary. It seemed that she would prefer a Stark as Warden but then again Robb had no way of knowing if the Targaryen hadn't also been in communication with the Bolton's promising them the same support as she had with him.

"So," Robb brought his attention again back to Lord Umber, "if your thoughts were not with the coming campaign, where were they?"

Robb frowned, "What makes you think I wasn't thinking about the campaign?"

"Forgive me for saying this young Stark, but you are a damn failure at lying." Umber laughed at Robb's look of surprise. "Of course, that is not something to be ashamed of, especially since some reasons why the Great House of Stark has so many vassals are because of its history of integrity, dependability, and honesty."

Robb smirked, "Lord Umber, when you aren't roaring about in anger, you can have a fairly smooth tongue."

"Made that way from having a froward wife, let me assure you."

Robb let out a bark of a laugh and shook his head, "Just as I believe my wife has helped shape me into a better diplomat, of sorts."

"Aye," Umber nodded, "wives have a way of changing a man."

Robb sat up straighter and again looked over his shoulder. Sascha was nowhere near where they rode in the caravan and yet he felt the need to reassure himself of that fact. She would be towards the middle of the company, together with his sister and mother and little Arra. Robb's features softened as he thought of his daughter. They would need to officially request recognition through the Iron Throne, as dispensations for official adoption of bastards into noble family lines required royal approval. However, within their own familial borders, and within his allies, Robb had officially recognized her as his daughter and renamed her as Arra Stark. No one had argued the matter, Norrey's included, and nothing more had been said about the lives lost or the one born. It seemed everyone was accepting enough and, if anything negative was said. it was whispered very privately; Robb knew that much of all this was because of his wife.

In his time away, Sascha had managed to win over near every member of his company who'd remained behind from the wars. From among these individuals more than a few had felt the need to directly tell him of all that she'd done in the Stark name in his absence. How she'd made regular rounds within the tent city to ensure that everyone had what they'd needed and then had settled internal disputes if and when they arose; she'd even planned out and organized what this caravan would look like in the event that they would leave—and that was one of the reasons why they were able to leave the Twins within a week instead of the projected fortnight, because of Sascha's ability to foresee possible problems and preemptively find the solutions.

His mother had also taken great pains to pull him aside to tell him of all the work Sascha had down with Arya. She'd included Arya in much of planning and building of her machines—the few that they'd worked on in his absence—and also how she'd taken to training with Arya. His mother had included, at that part of the report, that the training Sascha did with Arya was not with a blade or weapon of any kind but was instead a series of strange arm and leg movements that were slow and timed along with breaths. She'd never seen anything like it before but it seemed, in her opinion, to have helped calm Arya's frantic edges.

Robb shook his head and sighed. A blind, deaf, mute, dumb man would be able to readily recognize the merits of his wife and yet it'd taken him over half a year. How had the gods found the mercy to shine such favor upon him? And how had such a woman come from the likes of Walder Frey? Her mother must've been a saint and her previous husband equally so to have influenced her to be as she was now. When he looked back upon what he'd been like up to his nuptials with Sascha, Robb couldn't help but wince when he saw the truth of Sascha's early opinions of him. He had been much like a petulant child, a wolf pup yapping at the heels of everyone around him. Selfish and wholly unaware, or near so, of just how far reaching the consequences of his actions would be, he remembered her allusions to those weak points of his character as well.

Though they were only six years' difference in age, those six could well have been sixty in regards to wisdom. He would not allow himself to foolishly overlook how her influence had helped in his negotiations with the Iron Queen nor how it continued to guide his steps. He had no doubts that she would make a capable leader once they retook Winterfell, a co-warden it could be said. Just as she'd won over his people on the campaign with him, he trusted that she'd be able to do the same with the northern houses, even those who were not apt to trust anyone south of the Neck. With these revelations in mind, Robb knew that it would do him good to include her on all councils. Even if it was not the custom, to have one's wife attend council meetings, Robb felt that any who knew Sascha would just as readily accept her advice and be able to overlook her gender.

"Lord Umber," Robb found himself speaking before he'd fully put together whatever it was he wanted to ask him.

"Yes?" the giant of a man questioned when Robb still pondered how to voice his question without sounding like a young dolt.

"You said your wife was froward?"

Umber laughed, "That is one way of describing her, yes."

"And you said you developed a 'smooth tongue' in order to talk to her?" Robb knew he must sound ridiculous, parroting back to the man exactly what he'd said not moments before. Umber, however, seemed to have an unexpected bout of patience in his blood that day and merely nodded in reply, instead of growling at Robb to get on with whatever he was trying to say. "Have you ever wondered if your wife would not be so given to quarrels if you yourself altered something about the way you treat her?"

"Are you saying I treat my wife poorly lad?" There was a dangerous sound in Umber's voice and Robb frowned; he'd not voiced his question well at all.

"No, not at all. I've not an inking how you treat your wife and in all respects that is your own business."

"Then what in the hell are you trying to ask?" It sounded as if the earlier patience had run out.

Robb rubbed the back of his neck, "Let's say you decided today that you were going to act differently towards your wife," he held up a hand and hurried on, "for whatever reason you decided this. Do you think she would find this agreeable and would reciprocate your change with a similar change? Or do you think that a person is what they are and there can be no changing them, or changing the dynamics of their relationship?"

"You're wondering how and if you can woo your wife, eh?" Robb jerked his head around and saw Lady Maege Mormont riding up beside him. He glanced past her and saw, to his relief, that none of his other bannermen had been riding close enough to overhear Lady Mormont's question or his own. He looked back to Lady Maege and then over to a semi-horrified looking Jon Umber. Most likely Umber never discussed anything of a personal nature or had ever acknowledged any emotion more tender than tolerability. "I've noticed the way you look at her now versus the way you looked at her before the wars." Lady Maege leaned over and lightlly patted Robb's shoulder. Robb felt his stomach churn as if he'd been caught with a sweet before supper. "I think it's about bloody time you wooed the lady."

"Is that what you're about Stark?" Umber asked, having shaken off the surprise and replaced it with curiosity. "You don't need to woo your wife. She's your wife. You want her, take her."

Lady Maege clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, "And that would be the reason why your wife only speaks to you on the third Sunday of every month."

"I didn't marry her for her speaking abilities." Umber growled back.

Robb shook his head. This had been a horrible mistake.

"Lord Stark, if I may?" Lady Maege nudged her horse closer. She didn't wait for his permission before she continued, "It seems that you're wondering if it would be possible to rectify the distance that has developed between yourself and your wife." Robb nodded, quite unsure if he wanted to continue this line conversation after all. "And you're wondering if you make changes about how you treat her, if she'll reciprocate and do likewise?"

"Why are we all of a sudden repeating ourselves? Are you both deaf?" Umber interrupted, pointing to Robb. "He just said that when you were eavesdropping like a cuckholded spinster, so I know you heard him right enough."

Lady Maege didn't look the slightest bit offended by Umber's remarks, "I just want to make sure I heard him correctly. Don't want to give him the wrong advice as some are wont to do." She gave Umber a lingering look and Robb lowered his head for a moment to keep from laughing. He'd never realized that these two got along so well. Umber growled something about women and thinking, and perhaps a few animal references, but fell silent after another pointed look from the warrioress at Robb's side. "My advice, Lord Stark, is to take that first step even without the assurance that she'll step forward to meet you. From what I've seen of your wife, from the way she acts and the like, I've a notion that she'll give what she gets. If she doesn't get warmth then she has no reason to give it, and the reverse rings true as well."

Robb nodded. What she said had merit and when he looked back on the moments that he had received something akin to affection from his wife, be it physical or verbal, it had always been in response to something he'd said or done to her that was equally warm. He already knew her well enough to know that if she respected someone then she would be more likely to spend time with them, proving that respect was not something held in high regard for men alone. So long as he continued to act in a way that garnered her respect—namely so long as he didn't act like the dunce he'd been before—and if he began to make an effort to say and do things for her that showed his appreciation, it was quite possible that she'd do the same in kind.

"Thank you Lady Mormont, and Lord Umber, for your words of advice. I'll take it into consideration."

"I still think you should just take her if you want her."

"And just where would he take her, I might ask?"

"You know of what I speak woman. It's not the destination, it's-"

Robb tuned out the bickering nobles and instead turned his attention inwardly. Yes, his heart hurt anew at the loss of Talisa and the inability to beg her forgiveness; and yet that hurt had been comforted with the presence of Arra and how he could make things as they should be by securing her future. Robb was certain that his wife was hurting as well, though she was a strong enough woman that he'd never know for certain unless she decided to tell him. From the very beginning he'd only ever given her reason to doubt him and fight against him, and mostly for good reasons. Thus he now needed a new campaign: the campaign of wooing his wife.

They rode the rest of the day and onward into the night a bit in order to meet up with his men at the rendezvous point. It was a suitable place for them to make camp, near to a river and on a raised plateau just some ways off the king's road. There were only a few copses of trees scattered here and there across the fells. Further east the ground grew swampy and to the west as well. If one strayed too far from the road they'd find themselves sinking well beyond their necks into the marshes only the Reed's knew how to avoid. Though his men had scouted the surrounding area, and they were yet to cross over fully into Bolton held lands, Robb had learned from his campaign with the Lannister's that one had to have a good balance between caution and action. With his family in tow, Robb was erring on the side of caution. This particular plateau had a narrow entrance point that wasn't boggy and so he knew that, even if they were surrounded and attacked, they'd have the high point and the advantage of unsuitable ground surrounding their position in their favor.

As they'd been traveling for a few days already, and had only made camp for a night at a time, Robb decided to have them stay for at least two days while his scouts rode even further northward than before. This close to the borderlands had Robb wondering if it would be smarter to make camp at Moat Cailin but he remembered his mother calling it a "death trap" before and agreed. A landmarked building would be a greater target and the Bolton's would expect him to make camp at places like that. No, this particular plateau would do for the next two days.

Once their camp was set in place, made a little more difficult than usual due to the lack of daylight (though the moonlight proved sufficient enough), Robb met with his councilmen and informed them of his plans. He also instructed that as few fires as possible would be set for cooking and made sure the guards were doubled near the tents of his family. That done, Robb set off to find his family in order to share the evening meal. He paused by the river bank, however, and stared thoughtfully at the gentle current. Just further along the bank there was one of the grouping of trees, complete with some bushes, and upon closer inspection he saw that the river deviated just enough to create a fairly deep, though calm pool, just within the area. His earlier thoughts on how to woo his wife came back as he continued to study the area, its proximity to the others tents and campfires, and the level of privacy it truly held.

Sascha had been sharing a tent with his mother, Arya, and the wet nurse. As they hadn't truly stopped traveling for more than a night, no one had had the opportunity to truly bathe since leaving the Twins. While Robb was accustomed to the stench and crusty feeling of the road, he knew that his mother would be uncomfortable. Arya most likely felt fine, dirty more often than clean in any regard, and he hadn't a clue as to how often Sascha had traveled or how far prior to marrying him. That lack of knowledge aside, Robb knew that the opportunity to bathe would be welcomed by at least his mother, maybe Arya, and he'd insist for his wife. If she balked at the idea, he'd stoop to Arra's health being a priority (if Sascha was too dirty it could cause Arra to get sick; an unlikely event but he'd say as such if pressed).

A decisive smile on his face, Robb turned and walked towards his mother's tent. More than giving Sascha the comfort of a bath, he wanted her back in his bed. During his campaign, Robb had at first found it difficult to sleep without another warm body in the bed with him. Though he and his wife were still far from affectionate in bed, he had grown used to waking up to her warmth near him or, on occasion, his arm around her waist or her head pillowed near his shoulder. When he'd come back to the Twins, and the awkward and unstable first few days with Sascha and Arra, he hadn't been in the mindset to appreciate the return of a bedmate. Now that his view towards his wife was so altered, Robb very much wanted her back. But how to insist upon that without her knowing the truth behind his insistence? While he wanted their relationship to warm, and their affection to grow, he wasn't sure yet if he wanted her to be privy to all the reasons for his newfound desires just yet.

Robb paused just outside the tent and listened to the voices of his mother, sister, and Sascha inside. He did not smile, as the conversation was a serious one, but was thankful for the reassurance in the ease of their conversation that they were getting along together so well. His eyes grew wide after a moment and, though he was no school boy, he felt warmth flood his face as he listened more intently when their conversation shifted from domestic to intensely private matters.

* * *

A New Campaign: Sascha

"Are they all like this?"

Sascha smiled at the sight of Arya holding Arra. She was looking at the squirming babe as if the child were about to sprout wings and breathe fire, though from the expression on Arya's face it didn't seem that she'd particularly mind if Arra did do just that. Well before Robb had made the recognition of Arra official, Arya had uttered support and at least verbal affection for the child. However, she'd never touched her. It was almost a miracle that she was now, considering the youth had not expressed an interest in holding her niece up until just moments before. Any time Sascha had offered, or even Lady Stark, Arya had had an excuse of some sort, running away as if they were about to brand her instead of merely holding a child out to her for her to hold. Now, however, there was nowhere to run. Lady Stark, Arya, the wet nurse, and Sascha were confined in the tent as they waited for Robb to join them for the evening meal.

"Meaning are they all so small, so wiggly, so beautiful?" Sascha supplied descriptive options, since Arya had not offered much by way of her intention.

Arya shook her head, though she maintained eye contact with Arra, "Round and fat."

Lady Stark and Sascha shared a laugh.

"It is quite a wonder that Arra is so round and fat. She was born much too soon, remember?" Lady Stark walked behind the chair Arya was perched in and reached over her daughter's shoulder to stroke Arra's cheek. "Most bairns don't survive if they're born that soon."

Sascha smirked, "Just goes to show how stubborn the Stark bloodline is."

Lady Stark blinked at Sascha, surprised at her jibe, but Arya chuckled, the noise making little Arra scrunch her face up into a mimicking expression of amusement. Sascha didn't often express the more sarcastic side of her humor around Lady Stark, relegating that to Arya and Gendry alone, or the men she worked with. Though her relationship with Lady Stark had improved tremendously, she still had yet to fully gage what the woman would and wouldn't accept from her behavior and words.

"It is true, mother, we are stubborn." Arya's voice crept up a notch in pitch in response to Arra's gurgling noises, an indication that she was entertained and happy.

"I believe there are other words that could adequately describe our family without running the risk of sounding negative." Lady Stark stepped away from the chair and went to the edge of the tent where a table had been set up with the contents of their evening meal. Sascha studied her lady mother and her movements to portion out the food onto trenchers and saw a twitching at the edges of her lips, as if she was fighting a smile. Perhaps her sarcasm wasn't lost after all.

"I don't think I'll have any children." Arya dryly commented on a sigh.

Sascha turned her eyes from Lady Stark at the same time that Lady Stark turned around to face her youngest.

"Why do you say that?" Sascha spoke before the elder woman, somehow knowing that Lady Stark would say something to upset Arya and make her defensive.

Little Arra's coos and squirms began to grow more aggressive and Arya handed the babe off to the wet nurse, who in turn retreated to the edge of the tent in order to feed her. Arya was silent for a moment and Lady Stark looked like she would say something more but Sascha caught her eye and shook her head. Whatever Arya was about to say she needed to say it in her own time.

"When I was at Harrenhall I watched a woman give birth." Arya leaned back in the chair and shook her head. "It was dirty, smelly, and bloody."

Lady Stark did speak then, "How did you manage to see a woman give birth at Harrenhall?"

"She was one of those captured in the cages with me."

Both women exchanged a look and Sascha saw Lady Stark shudder before she turned and busied herself with the food again. Arya hadn't spoken much about what she'd seen, heard, or done in her time on the road or at Harrenhall. Gendry, intimidated by Sascha when she'd cornered him on the matter, had shed some much needed light on the matter but there had been a few times, he'd admitted, that they'd been separated and so he couldn't be certain on some details. But at least Sascha knew Arya's maidenhead was still intact, though the innocence of her mind had been most assuredly been stolen from her.

"The woman survived but the baby didn't. Some of the guards they-" Arya closed her eyes and started to breathe in the rhythm Sascha had taught her in their morning exercises.

Sascha knew that Arya needed a diversion and so moved one of the other chairs closer and tapped her leg, causing the young girl to open her eyes.

"Not all births are like what you saw." Sascha had helped deliver her fair share of bastard brothers and sisters. Frey children already seemed to survive the births, though many times the non-Frey mothers did not. Perhaps the Frey bloodline was near as stubborn as the Stark. "I mean yes many are smelly and bloody and loud and sweaty and disquieting. But when all that is done and cleaned away, there's a new life to celebrate and that's a beautiful thing."

"And," Lady Stark managed to somehow, in spite of her frail size, pull another chair close as well, "the process of creating that new life is also beautiful."

Sascha quickly looked away but looked back when she heard Arya snort and say, "It seems to be a bit of a mess actually."

It was Sascha's turn to chuckle, "What do you mean Arya?"

"Well one's arms and legs must get all tangled up and even when I sleep alone I sometimes wake up in a knot with the bedcovers. I can only imagine how much worse it is when two people are rutting around like they do."

"Arya!" Lady Stark's cheeks were red and she looked fairly scandalized. "A lady shouldn't talk like that."

"A lady also shouldn't have seen the things I saw." Arya's glare was dark and her breathing started to become erratic again.

Sascha interrupted before either Lady Stark ended up verbally pushing Arya away with an overly motherly remark or the girl decided to retreat on her own, "You can plan it out."

Both pairs of eyes turned towards Sascha and Arya's eyebrow rose in question.

"Plan it out?"

"Yes," Sascha was grasping here, having had so little experience herself, "you can think of the marital bedchamber as a battlefield if you like." Lady Stark's eyes narrowed and Sascha got the feeling she didn't appreciate her analogy; she pressed onward however, for Arya's sake. "Your brother doesn't go into battle without having already studied the terrain, his forces, the forces of his enemy, and also have taken into account the history of the wins and losses of both his own troops and that of his foe."

"Are you saying Robb goes to bed armed?"

From the glint in Arya's eyes Sascha knew the little chit was teasing but from the sharp intake of breath from Lady Stark, it seemed Arya had yet again not impressed her mother. Sascha braved the idea of further frustrating her lady mother and chuckled.

"You could say, in a fashion, he does yes. I do as well."

Arya's eyebrow raised again, "What are you armed with?"

"Well," Sascha exchanged a glance with Lady Stark but the women merely mimicked her daughter's earlier expression of question; she would be no help. "With knowledge and experience." As soon as she said the words she wished she hadn't. While Robb had the experience, and Sascha had the textual knowledge, together they'd exchanged nothing (or nearly so) by way of analogical battle.

"Oh yeah, you from your previous marriage and Robb," Arya shrugged, her eyes momentarily traveling over to the wet nurse and Arra.

Sascha didn't confirm or deny Arya's words, she didn't like lying after all, and so she let the conversation lull into silence. Until Arya spoke up again.

"So then do you kiss?"

"Arya!"

"What she done now?"

All three women turned to gape at Robb as he stood just inside the tent. His cheeks were flushed as if he'd walked quickly to join them. Sascha felt her ears growing warm.   


"How long have you been standing there?" she asked, watching his facial expression and body movements carefully.

Robb smirked, "Long enough to see that the three of you are neck deep in matters I best avoid." He strode past their little circle and immediately went to the food. His mother also stood and retrieved two trenchers, handing one to Arya and keeping one for herself. Sascha started to stand but stopped when Robb returned with a trencher of food for her. She was surprised, though thankful, and stuttered out her thanks.

"Hold this." He handed her his trencher as well, his fingers brushing her in the process, and she watched as he took hold of the only other empty chair in the tent and brought it to their circle. His fingers again brushed hers when he took the trencher back from her and Sascha narrowed her eyes at him. Had he done that on purpose?

"Robb." Sascha turned to look at Arya as the girl spoke through mouthfuls. "How old were you when you first kissed someone?"

Lady Stark choked. Sascha immediately stood up and got the poor woman a goblet of water. She patted her lady mother's back and watched intently the exchange occurring between sister and brother.

Robb seemed unfazed by his sister's brazen question, "Is that what you are talking about?"

"Well not exactly. We were talking about childbirth then we were talking about the process of making a child and-"

"And kissing somehow factored into this line of conversation?"

Arya nodded, "Yes. Now how old were you?"

"None of your business Arya."

The tent fell into silence for only a few moments during which Lady Stark nodded to Sascha and Sascha returned to her seat, Robb finished his food, and little Arra let out a loud burp.

"Well," Arya spoke up again, "if you won't tell me that, then how often are you supposed to kiss someone?"

It was Sascha's turn to cough. Instead of Lady Stark coming to her rescue Robb caused Sascha's coughing to increase instead of decrease when he stood and came to her side, landing firm but gentle pats on her back. He did so without so much as looking at her face, even when she turned her head to look at him in question. He was acting as if this was the most normal thing in the world to do. Sascha blinked away the tears and managed to hold back further coughs. Robb accepted a water goblet from Lady Stark, who had at least been able to do that much, and thrust it into Sascha's hands. She drank readily from it.

Robb replied to his sister as Sascha drank, "I'm going to regret asking this, but why that question in conjunction with the first?"

"In those stories Sansa read growing up the knights and ladies only ever kissed once and then the story ends and they never discuss life after the kiss. When we were down at the Red Keep I saw many of the southern folk kiss all the time, married or not, whereas here in the north I don't see it as often. So I was curious if there was a minimum or maximum amount that a man was supposed to kiss a woman. You know, all in the process of creating another life?"

Sascha wasn't sure but she got the feeling that the youngest Stark had somehow turned the tables on them all and knew exactly what she was asking, the implications they held, and she was enjoying this moment immensely. The little she-devil.

"I can't believe we're still talking about this." Sascha looked over to Lady Stark who was shaking her head and staring at her trencher as if the food could offer her solace.

Arya ignored her mother's comment and kept her gaze steady upon Robb, who had yet to return to his seat and also had yet to remove his very warm hand from Sascha's back. Sascha resisted the urge to roll her shoulders. "Answer the question Robb. Please." She added the latter as an afterthought.

"No, Arya," Robb gave Sascha's back one more gentle pat then he returned to his seat, "there is no maximum or minimum amount a man is supposed to kiss a woman."

For a few blissful moments the tent was again silent. Sascha wolfed down the rest of her food, afraid that Arya would say something again that would make her choke. When she glanced over at Lady Stark under her lashes she saw a similar belief mirrored in the woman's actions. Only Robb and Arya seemed at ease with themselves and the atmosphere. Arya was slowly eating her food and Robb was sitting calmly between Sascha and his mother, his hands folded in his lap, his ankles crossed as he legs stretched out in front of him. He looked different somehow than he had just that morning it seemed. She'd come to associate her husband with tension and a guarded layer between them. But, now that she thought back on it, he'd seemed to soften since he'd taken Arra officially into the Stark household. He hadn't just softened to Arra, but also to his mother, Arya, and Sascha. Sascha held her empty trencher in her hands and debated whether or not she wanted to risk more coughing by eating more food. She'd made a wise decision on not to eat more when Arya asked her next question.

"Then what about a husband and wife?"

Lady Stark stood up and glared down at Arya, "Arya, really!"

"What about them?" Robb leaned sideways in his chair to look around his mother's body to his sister.

Both Lady Stark and Sascha looked at Robb as if he'd gone mad. The man was actually encouraging this conversation!

Arya eyes seemed to glow with impish delight as she spoke next, "I've never seen you kiss Sascha."

"Arya," Lady Stark turned and took her empty trencher, Sascha's as well, to the table and spoke over her shoulder, "that really is none of your concern."

"Yes, Arya," Sascha stood up quickly, "let's go find Gendry and-"

"Well Robb?"

Sascha looked between brother and sister, amazed at how calm they both seemed. She felt like a fire had been lit under her feet and trolls were dancing in her stomach. What in the bloody hell happened here? She had no notion of what to expect from either sibling. How had the situation gotten so far out of her control, and so quickly?

"Well what, Arya?" Robb leaned forward in his chair and stared down his sister, what looked to be a challenging smirk on his face.

"How often do you kiss your wife?"

Sascha closed her eyes and managed to hold back a moan of distress. She heard Lady Stark drop the trencher onto the table. Oh if only a hole would open up beneath her now.

"Arya I really don't-" Lady Stark's words were lost then and Sascha's eyes opened quickly, and widened, when she felt a warm hand on her waist. She was turned and without warning she felt Robb's lips on her own. He held onto her with one arm wrapped around her back, his hand on her waist. He'd pulled her up against him as he'd stood and now they were near chest-to-chest. Sascha hadn't a clue what she was doing with her own hands or arms and it was a bloody miracle she was still on her feet. It was then that she noticed his eyes were opened like hers. There was a playful light in them that she'd never quite seen before and so did not recognized it for what it was at first. There was also something else. The way his thumb began to stroke her through her clothing, and how after the initial moment of contact of their lips his gaze seemed to soften into a look Sascha hadn't a clue how to decipher—or hadn't expected she'd need to.

The kiss did not last long, just long enough to prove a point to Arya, confuse hell out of Sascha, and most likely shock another life out of Lady Stark. Robb pulled back and gave Sascha a wink before he looked back to his sister. Sascha couldn't move yet and so remained standing awkwardly half in Robb's embrace and half out, only then growing aware of the fact that her hands were fisted and her forearms pulled upwards in a chicken-like brace position. She forced her arms to drop and listened to Robb as he spoke again.

"Arya, a husband cannot kiss his wife often enough and as you've taken great pains to point out, I do not kiss my wife as much as I should." Robb finally stepped away and refocused his attention on his mother. "On another line of conversation, I wanted to tell you about a spot along the river I found just before I came here. It is secluded enough to offer privacy for you all to bathe. I've given orders for camp to remain here for the next two days. I know everyone is exhausted and while I'd like to cover as much ground as possible I also want to be sure that for at least two day's ride we will be without threat before moving onward again."

Sascha shook her head to clear it. Robb had returned to being, well, Robb so quickly she was jealous. How could he kiss her so naturally, playfully, as if they had a warm relationship in which such things occurred often, and then go back to speaking of other matters?

"Sascha?" She looked over to Lady Stark and blinked at her in confusion. "I was asking if you'd rather I go first or you? One of us should stay with Arra."

"Oh yes," Robb spoke up again, his fingers tracing over the edge of his trimmed beard, "I also wanted to have Arra moved into my tent from now on." Lady Stark's mouth dropped open in an uncharacteristic move and Arya carefully studied her brother while Sascha resisted the urge to pinch herself. "That of course means Sascha will come with her. I will have a smaller tent erected adjacent, for the wet nurse if we have need of her."

Sascha could only blink at Robb. Where had her husband gone and who was this man standing in front of her, smiling as if he knew she was suffering in confusion over his change. She looked away after a moment and informed Lady Stark she could go first, Arya going with her, the wet nurse as well, while she stayed with Arra. Arrangements made, Robb left with the other women, to show them the way and keep watch, and once alone with the slumbering babe Sascha took in a much needed breath. It had seemed, while he was in the tent, the air had grown thicker and hotter and now she could finally breathe.

She nibbled on her lower lip as she mulled over the earlier conversation, the still shocking kiss (though it really hadn't been much of a kiss, more of a pressing of lips together), and also his request/demand that she move into his tent with him and Arra. Something had happened, Sascha knew that instinctively. At some time between the Twins and here, something had shifted inside Robb. He was, for this evening at least, looking more like a doting husband than the near stranger he'd been to her thus far in their marriage. Sascha didn't quite know what to think. Did she like this new Robb and did she like the idea of him becoming in truth doting husband? Could she even trust that he'd remain this way?

Arra stretched and opened her eyes. She looked unhappy, lying alone on the cot. Before she could begin fussing, Sascha scooped up the baby and set to pacing the length of the tent humming lullabies to her. Arra relaxed and so did Sascha. There wasn't much she could do for the time being to combat the uncertainty the change in Robb offered. She would just have to observe, be cautious, and wait to see what on earth he did next.


	10. The Bath and Bed

_My sincere apologies for the delayed update. I managed to finish another fanfic in the interim though, so that's a plus. Thank you for your continued support and I hope you enjoy this update. It is entirely fluff and nonsense, a forewarning. Cheers!_

* * *

The Bath and Bed: Sascha

"Robb?"

"Yes, Sascha?"

"I seem to have knotted my stays." Sascha kept her gaze on the river in front of her even as she spoke over her shoulder to her husband, whom she knew was standing on the other side of the bushes that bordered the small clearing he'd earlier brought her to.

After the others had returned from their bath, Robb escorting them, Sascha had had no way of protesting Robb's insistence that he not only escort her to the clearing but also watch over her in a similar fashion that he had for his mother and sister. They'd spoke not a word on the way to the clearing and only after they'd arrived did Robb explain where he would be standing whilst she bathed. She'd found some reassurance in knowing that with the shadows from the trees overhead blocking the moonlight, as well as the bushes themselves, it would be difficult for Robb or any others to see her clearly as she bathed.

And so she'd managed to calm her nerves just enough to begin undressing, only to cause the conundrum she currently found herself in when, in her hurry to undress, she'd managed to tangle up the laces of her corset. As it was a back-lacing corset, she couldn't see how it was she could get the knots out. Sasha had tried to unknot the stays for a goodly while before she'd sighed. She was wasting time in her efforts to preserve her pride; Robb no doubt was just as tired and felt a desire to clean himself as well. She shouldn't be so selfish, and childish, as to prolong this situation.

"And?" Sascha felt her body jerk with awareness when Robb's voice was suddenly close behind her. She'd been so caught up in her thoughts that she hadn't heard him approach through the bushes. "Would you like my assistance?"

Sascha looked over her shoulder and found Robb grinning at her. Despite her own mortification, and the reemergence of the strange awareness she had of a change in her husband, Sascha managed to roll her eyes at him and nod. "Yes, please."

She moved her gaze forward once she knew Robb was approaching again. Moments later she felt his fingers against her back, the warmth of them seeping through the material to her skin. Sascha couldn't help the involuntary shiver that coursed through her in direct response. She wasn't about to lie to herself and say it was merely the night chill. No, she knew it had everything to do with the fact that her husband, a good-looking man who had for so long been the "forbidden fruit" to her existence and who had suddenly changed in his approach to her, was now helping her undress.

Additionally, they had some semblance of privacy. Granted they'd had plenty of privacy at the Twins, but it had been different there. They'd both been so wrapped up in planning for this journey, in recognizing Arra, and in adjusting to one another after the passing of Talisa, and the supposed last barrier between them and their marriage, that at least for Sascha she'd not felt that they were well and truly alone together much. There had been too many responsibilities tugging at their minds and hearts to allow them the freedom to focus on the here and now, and each other. Now, however strange at it seemed with the army just on the other side of a group of trees, she felt more alone with her husband than she had in a very long time.

"You've done a good job of this." Robb's breath was warm against the skin of her shoulders. Sascha clasped her hands in front of her to keep them from shaking at her sides. "It'll take a bit longer, Sascha." There was no reason for him to speak so softly to her, to lean so close and near whisper the words in her ear, and yet he did, and Sascha was nearly a pool of ridiculousness as a result. She could only mutely nod her understanding in response and continue to stand still, staring at the passing waters as Robb continued to tug and pull at the laces of her corset, on occasion his fingers splaying across her back in order to give a particularly strong pull.

To keep herself from being a complete dunce because of his touch, Sascha did a brief but honest soul search. If Robb wanted to fulfill his husbandly duties, tonight, would she be able and willing to reciprocate? In truth, there were no reasons to deny him—not anymore. Talisa was dead and even before her death it had become clear to Sascha that the woman had truly desired a better life for herself and her child than to be merely the former mistress to a near-king. Any emotional ties that may have existed between them had not exactly been severed but had been retied, restrung, and it was clear to Sascha also that Robb had been attempting to build emotional bridges with her. Of course, being Robb, he'd cocked it up more than once, but even now—his tenderness, his kiss, his care—was all testimony to his interest in making their marriage more "traditional" than it currently was. Sascha swallowed the nervous lump that lodged in her throat as a momentary image of Robb's previous intimate encounter with her flashed in her mind. He would not mistake her for Talisa this time.

"There." Sascha sucked in another breath when she felt his hands firmly push apart the material of the corset, exposing her back to the night air and his perusal: the shift she wore under the corset was thin and basically translucent. His hands fell away from her clothing but he had yet to step away from her.

Sascha closed her eyes and took a deep breath for courage before she spoke again, "Do you need similar assistance?"

"What?" The sound of surprise in Robb's voice made Sascha smile and she turned around to face him, regaining a bit of her composure when she saw an equal amount of vulnerability in his gaze.

Sascha summoned up the courage Robar had taught her to have in the face of an enemy at court, hiding her own fear behind a smile that Tyrion had taught to show when accusations were thrown at her. She rolled her shoulders forward, not pausing to overthink her movements, and allowed the fabric of the corset to come forward then fall to her forearms. Her husband's eyes were wide and cautious, trailing after the corset as she pulled it off and dropped it to the ground. As she continued to disrobe, kneeling then and beginning to untie the laces of her boots, she tossed her loosely braided hair over her shoulder and looked up at him.

"There is really no point in you waiting for me to finish bathing now is there?" Sascha surprised herself with how steady her voice sounded to her own ears. "Have you informed your men to stay away from this area?" Robb mutely nodded, his gaze still wide-eyed. Sascha shifted her weight to take off one boot then the other. She was left in her stockings, shift, and overskirt. She stood up again and her hands went to the ties of the overskirt. Robb shook his head and tore his gaze away from her working fingers to rest upon her face again. "Then you should take advantage of the moment and bathe as well. It is already getting late in the day and we both need to rest." The overskirt fell to her feet in a heavy pool of cloth. Sascha thought she heard Robb suck in breath through his teeth. "Besides, little Arra will be restless if I don't sing her to sleep soon." Sascha hesitated but a moment before she bent forward and drew up her shift, just enough, to begin rolling down her stockings. She didn't dare look at Robb now; if she did she knew she would lose all this forced bravado. Only once both stockings were discarded alongside her other items of clothing did she stand up to her full height and meet Robb's gaze with her own. The moonlight didn't offer much by way of coloration of skin but Sascha was not so naïve to think that her stripping didn't have some effect on her husband. When he still did not move, but continued to stare at her—moving his gaze from her head to her bare feet—Sascha sighed and began to unbraid her hair. "Do you need assistance in disrobing, Robb, or can you manage on your own?"

Her question seemed to do the trick and Robb shook his head again, "I can manage." And then Sascha had to hide her smile of amusement as Robb set to stripping as if he'd be burned if he weren't naked in a matter of seconds. He'd managed to shed his outerlayers of overcoat, doublet, and tunic—Sascha felt her cheeks warm at the sight of his well-toned bare skin in the moonlight—but growled slightly when he reached for his belt. He'd gone and done something similar and had gotten some of the clothing of his tunic and breeches twisted together with the leather belt.

Robb tugged at the increasingly complex knot a few times before Sascha allowed her amusement to air and chuckled. He looked up at her and sighed in the face of her joviality.

"Assistance?" she asked.

Robb nodded, "Yes."

Sascha chuckled again as she stepped forward. She couldn't hide the slight tremor in her hands when she reached for the knot, a combination of the night air and the moment, nor could she ignore the proximity of her stance with Robb allowing her the awareness of his warm body and the rising and falling of his chest as his breathing rate increased. She blinked slowly once, twice, before she turned her attention to the knot. She tried working at it while standing but the angle didn't afford her the ability to see how best to unknot it and so she knelt before her husband. There was no mistaking the harsh intake of breath that she heard from Robb above her, nor could she completely block out the sight of Robb clenching his hands into fists at his hips.

"You've done a good job of this." Sascha tried to keep the moment lighter than it was, knowing that if she didn't she'd keel over in nerves.

"What?" Robb's voice sounded strained.

Sascha continued to tug and pull at the fabric, working it lose, "This knot." She gave one last tug and suddenly the belt and his breeches fell to his ankles. Robb now stood only in his braies and they both let out a gasp of surprise, Sascha falling onto her butt while Robb angled his body away from her. There had been no mistaking the sizeable erection bobbing up and down in greeting through the thin fabric.

Sascha blinked a few times, the reality of what just happened sinking in, before she suddenly let out a high-pitched cackle. She couldn't help it, even when she saw Robb turn his attention back towards her, his expression strained. The laughter continued to bubble up from her stomach and she had to roll onto her side to relieve the tension she was laughing so hard. Of all the things…of all the times…Sascha felt tears rolling down her cheeks but still she couldn't stop laughing. She knew it wasn't the proper thing to do, the wifely thing, but she couldn't seem to stop.

* * *

The Bath and Bed: Robb

Robb clenched and unclenched his hands at his sides as he watched his wife near roll around on the ground at his feet. She was not writhing from the pleasure he was giving her, not like the images that had come unbidden into his mind when she'd been kneeling in front of him, so close to his erection that he'd had only to shift slightly and it would've rubbed against her cheek. No, she was rolling about like a gleeful child, laughing at him.

Robb took in a deep breath then slowly let it out. No, she wasn't laughing at him. It had been obvious that she'd appreciated his closeness, the slowness of his touch and care when he'd helped her undress. His presence had influenced her, there was no denying that. She found him attractive, the expression on her face when she'd watched him discard his tunic and revealing his naked flesh to her eyes had been testimony to this as well. And he would've had to have been a blind, mute, deaf fool to not recognize the fact that in her conversation attempt with him as she'd continued to disrobe she'd been trying to make the situation more casual, more bearable, for them both while at the same time pushing it forward. Perhaps she too had recognized the need, the time, for them to become in name and body husband and wife—especially now that the former barriers had passed away—and so had grown bolder. But the sexual tension that had been palpable, that had Robb wound up tighter than he'd been in a very long time, had been broken at the first sound of her amusement.

"I'm sorry." Sascha's voice was wobbly and it sounded like she'd begun to hiccup. Robb took another steadying breath and crouched down so that he could be eyelevel with her, once she managed to sit still and wipe away her tears of mirth.

"I must say that I've never had that reaction from a woman before." Robb kept her voice even. He truly wasn't upset with Sascha, though he was a bit confused as to why she'd laugh, and he wanted her to remain comfortable with him despite this unexpected interlude.

Sascha sat up, her legs crossed—which caused her shift to bunch up at her waist and reveal the paleness of her legs; Robb allowed his gaze to travel the length of her legs but a moment before he looked to her face, where she was indeed wiping away tears and dirt and taking steadying breaths.

"And there really is no reason that you should've," Sascha smiled at him, her humor still high, "it just, well, it was unexpected and," Sascha chuckled again and shrugged, "I really am sorry Robb. I didn't mean any offense by it."

Her smile was so sincere and for a moment Robb could picture her as a child: covered in dirt, smile full of unrepentant mischief. He made a mental note to ask her, later, about her childhood. It really was a crime how little they knew of each other. How could he expect them to become physically intimate to the degree that was expected between man and wife when they still knew so little about one another? His conversation with the Iron Queen came to him then, haunting him with the possibility of her taking Sascha from him: in body and loyalty.

Robb held out a hand, "And I was not offended by it." He watched Sascha hesitate before she placed her hand in his. He stood up, drawing her with him, and was satisfied that his movements caused Sascha to wobble into him, her free hand coming to rest against his chest. He let his free hand come forward and take hold of her hip, all in the name of steadying her. He watched a myriad of emotions play on her face in direct response to his touch. "Though I would ask that in the future," he pulled her closer and without preamble he kissed her cheek, slowly drawing away, "you continue to be comfortable enough with me to laugh."

A moment passed before Sascha nodded, their faces so close that she almost knocked her forehead against his. Robb smirked before he let go and stepped away. While he would much rather keep touching her, holding in her warmth and her mirth, what she'd said earlier was true. The night was getting on, Arra would indeed be fussy, and in truth they had the rest of their lives to pursue this sort of intimacy with one another.

"I think we'd best hurry now." Robb gave Sascha a grin before he turned and stepped into the frigid waters. "Arra is waiting."

Sascha was in the water beside him without any further adieu and Robb didn't hold back the chuckle at the sight of her enthusiasm in her hurrying.

* * *

The Bath and Bed: Sascha cont.

Sascha was very much aware of Robb's eyes and attention on her as she sang to Arra. She wasn't much of a singer, her singing voice huskier than most women she knew, but Arra had come to associate it with security and quieted almost instantly whenever Sascha sang to her. She'd chosen a song from Robar's home, one about mermen in their sea castles and mermaids riding upon sea dragons, and by the third verse Arra was near purring with contentment. A sliver of drool began to seep from the corner of her mouth and Sascha smiled. Before she could wipe it away Robb's hands barred her view and she looked up in surprise as he withdrew the rag he'd used.

"Is that the end of the song?" was all he said in response to her surprise and she shook her head. "Finish it then."

Sascha found herself complying with his wishes despite her confusion, and the fact that the child to whom the song was meant was already asleep. The song was five verses long and Sascha tried to keep her gaze upon the slumbering Arra as she sang but on occasion her eyes were stray up to Robb's face. Sometimes he'd be looking at her and sometimes at Arra, but always his expression would be serene and warm and Sascha would feel her heart compress at the sight. This was such a domestic scene they were sharing, and such a contrast to the fiasco at the river, that Sascha didn't think she'd be able to fully comprehend it in this moment. Would their life every become "normal"? Would they eventually share this scene again, but with their own children? Sascha's thoughts settled into a hum of expectation as the song ended and silence came between them.

"Does she always sleep so soundly?" Robb asked.

Sascha nodded, "Especially after I sing her to sleep."

"Well," Robb reached out, surprising Sascha yet more, and took the bundle from her arms, "I can understand why. You have a very soothing voice." He stood without waiting for her response and walked over to the crib he'd had put inside their shared tent.

Sascha enjoyed the sight of Robb in his bedclothes carrying Arra to her bed but she shook her head and moved towards her side of the bed before he caught her gaping at him. By the time he'd deposited Arra and turned to come back to bed, Sascha was already tucked beneath the covers lying on her back. She wasn't certain if Robb would attempt to continue what they'd somewhat started back at the river, and she certainly wasn't certain if she wanted him to or to wait until another night when she wasn't so wound up already with nerves.

Robb took some time to blow out the remaining candles in their tent before he sat on the edge of the bed. It was much smaller than the bed they'd shared back at the Twins. If they both lay on their backs their sides would be touching and now that Robb was sitting on the edge Sascha could tell that due to the make of the bed it dipped towards the center. Once they both slept, Sascha was fairly certain that they'd end up entwined together as they'd sometimes become back at the Twins. Only now, she reminded herself, there was no reason not to reciprocate and he would not mistake her for someone else.

Sascha took a deep breath and let it out in a rush as she heard some rustling from Robb's side of the bed and soon after the telltale sound of something dropping to the floor. Robb had discarded his bedclothes. Sascha held tightly to the blankets and closed her eyes. It seemed that he did intend upon continuing what they'd started earlier. And it seemed that whether she was ready or not, it would occur tonight. She stayed on her back and concentrated on evening out her breathing as she felt Robb also lay upon his back, the warmth of his body quickly mingling with hers. She waited. And waited.

"What were you like as a child?"

Sascha turned her head to study her husband. She could make out his profile, his face still turned towards the tent's covering, and as she continued to stare—her eyes accustoming to the darkness—she saw that the expression on his face was one of sincerity but also nervousness. He was trying to do what she'd done earlier: give them a bridge to walk over before jumping into the unknown. Sascha smiled and mimicked him by staring upwards.

"Precocious and unmanageable much of the time." She heard and felt Robb chuckle by her side and at the sound of it gathered more courage to talk. "I don't remember much of my mother, just little sensations of sound or smell. Her face has faded from my memory, though I'm told that there is much of my own features that resemble hers. My father, believe it or not, was not such a horrid man in those early years. I don't remember much of him at that time either, though, and base most of my knowledge of that fact from others. But after my mother died, his first and favorite wife, he changed more and more into what he is today." She sighed. "I suppose it becomes harder to hate someone, even with all the evils they do, when you realize that at one time they'd loved and lost just like everyone else."

Robb shifted on the bed and out of her peripherals she saw that he'd turned onto his side to face her. "Is that why you don't speak ill of him now?"

"Perhaps." Sascha again mimicked his position and rolled onto her side. There was still a space between them but it was not cavernous; it was comforting. "It is true that my body bears the scars of his wrath, my mind and heart as well." She saw Robb's jaw tense and she found the idea of him becoming disquieted over the terrors of her past to be heartening. It helped her continue. She wasn't trying to change the subject and yet her words came tumbling out before she realized that the subject had indeed changed. "I had no choice in the matter, being married to Robar, but as much as I'd initially resented the match it didn't take long for me to realize that maybe my father had recognized a way 'out' for me. Sure, his heart has rotted through now, and he's a damnable bastard, but I think, or I'd like to hope, that out of all the noble dunces he'd had to choose from for me, that he chose Robar Royce because he was the only honorable option. That fact also keeps me from spending too much time on all the reasons I have for hating my father. My marriage to Robar, and the healing that brought me, taught me much, including that dwelling too much on past hate will only ensure that future hate will compound on itself."

She fell silent then and watched, waiting, for Robb's response. His face was neutral in expression, his gaze open and warm. He didn't seem to close off to her at the mentioning of Robar; this was only the second time that she could think of that she'd spoken openly of her previous marriage. Was it difficult for Robb, hearing of this now, while they lay in bed together, perhaps minutes away from consummating their own marriage? Sascha hoped he didn't; prayed he didn't. If they were to have a true marriage, then they would have to know these things about each other. She hoped that Robb would live up to her expectations, live up to be the man she'd always hoped he could be—though in the past had fallen far short of.

"What other tidbits of wisdom did you learn from Robar?" Sascha raised an eyebrow and perhaps sensing her skepticism in his sincerity Robb reached out and laid a warm hand on her shoulder. "I hold no resentment towards him, Sascha, and I ask for forgiveness once more for the times in the past when I negatively and immaturely pulled him and your marriage into our arguments." He rubbed his hand down her shoulder to her elbow then back up again before releasing her. "I never met him and know very little of him. If it is partially because of your marriage to him that you are the woman you are now, then I think it would be advantageous of me to know more about him."

Sascha's mouth fell open in shock.

* * *

The Bath and Bed: Robb cont.

Robb refrained from using his hand to close his wife's mouth; he also held in his chuckle. Instead he leaned forward just enough to smooth some of her hair away from her face, taking extra care to tuck it behind her ear, before he settled onto his side again: waiting. Honestly, it was humbling to hear the obvious respect and affection in Sascha's voice when she spoke of Robar. Yet Robb was in earnest when he said he wanted to know more. If he ever wanted Sascha to sound similar when she spoke of him, when she looked at him and interacted with him, then it would do him well to learn from the man who'd come before him.

He knew Sascha's dumbfounded response was not without grounds. If they'd tried to have this conversation prior to the campaign, prior to the loss of Talisa and the addition of Arra, it would not be so wholesome and positive. In all truth, it wouldn't be happening at all. Robb still shuddered inwardly whenever he remembered the things he'd said and done ,not only to Sascha but also to his mother and so many others, in those early days of the war. He'd been a boy setting out to do a man's job, just as so many boys before him. He'd been called upon to grow up before his time and at first he'd not been up to the task. It'd taken the loss of his father, the loss of his brothers, the loss of a hopeful future with Talisa, and the addition of this otherworldly woman across from him for him to realize just how lacking he was in character and deed to be considered a man of worth. But now, from now at least, he hoped to become more of a man of worth, a man his daughter could look up to and depend upon, a man his father would've been proud to know, a man his wife could respect and…love.

"Well?" Robb prompted when Sascha continued to stare at him in confused silence. "I hope to become a better husband to you, Sascha." Robb sobered up as he spoke, a bit surprised at his confession—Sascha was as well from the widening of her eyes. "You deserve that. I am not a perfect man and you know more than any other person, aside from my mother perhaps, of my weaknesses and failings. I can't promise you unending happiness, or absolute prosperity and peace; I can't even promise you a roof over your head just yet." Robb suddenly felt very small, like a child again, hoping for the attention and approval of one of his parents. "But I can promise you that I'm going to try."

Sascha remained quiet a moment longer and in the silence Robb wondered if he'd said too much, exposed too much. But then he felt Sascha's hand on his cheek and before he could breathe again she'd pressed her lips against his and then pulled away, though she kept her hand on his cheek. He placed his own hand atop hers, as if he were afraid she'd pull away before he could touch her, relishing the reality of her touch. She smiled at him and nodded. In slow breaths, sometimes steady and sometimes tear-strained, Sascha unfolded to him the brief years of her marriage with Robar. She repaid his vulnerable confession by opening her past and allowing him insight into certain nuances of her heart.

In the telling they'd shifted a few times. First Robb rolling onto his back, keeping Sascha's hand in his own, now pressed over his chest. Then with Sascha rolling onto her back and Robb moving onto his side, his hand coming over to rest on her stomach. Their touches, closer shiftings on the bed, seemed to grow more intimate and yet more casual as time progressed and Sascha revealed more, Robb responding to it with yet more questions and unaffected interest. By the end of it they were facing each other again, their legs somewhat intertwined, their arms in a similar state, with their heads sharing the same pillow. Their position was intimate, it was vulnerable, it was open, and Robb hoped that in the next few minutes he didn't do something stupid to make it near impossible to experience such a moment as this again.

"I've never told anyone that before." Sascha sighed, a small frown marring the corners of her lips. She was of course referring to the tourney injury that had complicated her marriage bed with Robar. That knowledge revealed so much about her, both inside the bedroom and outside, and Robb felt a fool for not recognizing the signs. Though in reality, he was just as much a fool as the rest of society. They'd had no reason to doubt.

Robb reached up and traced his fingertips against one corner of her lips, drawing her gaze back towards him. "There was never a reason to tell anyone. You've honored your husband with your discretion."

Sascha offered him a smile and Robb felt the warmth in his belly spread. As they'd come closer, both in mind and body, this evening he'd felt even more strongly a desire to unite with Sascha. Her strength of heart, her stalwart character was intoxicating to him. That she'd lived through as much as she had, still much not told to him, and yet was willingly in his arms now gave him hope. Perhaps he could still earn her trust, respect, and love.

Sascha tried but failed to hide a yawn and Robb smirked. As much as he wanted to continue this intimacy, increasing it even, he too began to feel the lateness of the day. They'd covered much ground in their relationship, but a city was rarely built in a day let alone. He leaned forward and kissed Sascha's forehead, then her cheek, and hesitated but a moment before he lightly pressed his lips against her. It would be the third kiss of their day, but of the three it felt the sweetest once he felt her lips soften against his and she returned, albeit shyly, his kiss with one of her own.

When he pulled back he nudged her shoulder, "I think we best get some rest now." Sascha rolled onto her side, giving him her back, but he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her against him. He didn't try to hide his arousal, but he didn't feel her stiffen or shy away at the touch of it either. "Thank you for sharing, Sascha. I hope to honor your honesty." He whispered his words near her ear before settling his head on the pillow behind her, the scent of her clean hair filling his nostrils.

He thought he heard her whisper something akin to, "You already have," before he drifted off to sleep.


	11. From Dream to Reality

_I've currently the time to update, aren't you lucky? In any case this chapter (at least in part) is NSFW. The other part will entail more political maneuverings, though I promise they won't last long and we'll be back to the focal point of this story: relationships. There is some dialogue vaguely similar to some found in the TV series and I've taken liberties with some things but know that the time distance is based on "research" so feel free to challenge after you've done your own. :p Also, what do you think of the new format of the chapters? Prefer it or what was previous? Thank you for your enthusiastic support and I hope you enjoy. Cheers!_

* * *

From Dream to Reality: Robb

Rob woke with a start, his hands fisting at his sides as if looking for a weapon, and his eyes darted around to take in his surroundings of the tent interior. It took a moment for him to remember where he was, why he was here, and who was in the bed with him. He quickly realized that it had been Sascha moaning in her sleep, her restless legs kicking against his own, and an arm crashing onto his neck that'd woken him. Robb turned his head to look at his wife. She wasn't normally so restless in her sleep. She snored, drooled, and rolled from side to side, but she was not oft this active.

Taking hold of her arm, Robb pulled it off his neck as he rolled onto his side to face her; he cradled her hand in his own, holding it loosely in case she wanted to pull it away again. He knew the hour without having to look outside the tent; it was predawn and soon enough the sentries would trade places and much of the camp would awaken. They would not travel this day but that was no reason to become lax on duties and routine. Sascha's breathing was increased and Robb watched in fascination as her chest rose and fell quickly, a near whine coming from her throat on occasion. He raised an eyebrow; was it a nightmare? a dream of pleasure? a memory? Sascha tilted her head to the side, her face coming towards his, and he watched in fascination as a pink tint came up her throat and into her cheeks, her lips parting as she panted.

Robb smirked. It was most assuredly a dream of pleasure. But who was it that was causing such a reaction in her? Robb pulled back the hand he'd raised to wake her. What if she was dreaming of Robar…she hadn't had to say but Robb knew that her previous husband had at least been able to introduce her to some acts of pleasure during their years of marriage. He frowned slightly but continued to watch as his wife shifted beside him, her legs rubbing against each other to seek relief and her hands moving up over her head to grasp at the pillow by her head. He couldn't help but find the sight of her arousing, even if it turned out she was dreaming of Robar, and he felt his own body respond to the sounds she was making. Still, he held back, wanting to know if she would wake herself in her movements or if he could have some clue as to who she was dreaming of. He didn't relish the idea of waking her and seeing disappointment on her face when she recognized him and not Robar.

Sascha let out another whine before suddenly her whole body tensed, her hips jerking a little, and then she lay still again. Robb lifted his head to take in the full sight of her. Her bedclothes were knotted around her waist and her legs were long, pale, and stretched out for him to see; the covers from their bed tossed to the side gave him the ability to trace his eyes up her waist to her chest and then to her face. He knew her body to be a mixture of soft-ish curves over strong muscle, her tendency towards hard work with her inventions keeping womanly softness at bay. Her hands were strong, calloused, and yet still delicate looking. Her hair was longer now than it had been when he'd first met her, and the braid she'd put in prior to sleep had since come near undone, causing her hair to halo out from her head in a mass of dark waves. Even as a soft snore began to come from her, Robb found her beautiful. Robb felt his gut clench, and not just from arousal. His wife truly was beautiful. He shook his head as if to clear it. He'd been such a simpleton.

Another sigh, this one sounding quite satisfied, came from Sascha and her body quivered a little before she rolled onto her stomach, her face towards his. Was it possible for a woman to reach fulfillment, on her own, in her sleep? It was true that he'd had little experience with women aside from a few prostitutes back in the North and then Talisa. He'd never seen such a thing happen with Talisa, and he'd never bothered to sleep with a prostitute—it would've been too expensive. He knew it was possible for men; he'd been the recipient more than a few times, and at least once or twice in his marriage bed with Sascha—the more intense of the two times he'd been dreaming of Sascha. So perhaps it wasn't so far-fetched to think that women could experience the same thing.

Robb leaned forward and placed a hand on Sascha's back, not daring to move it just yet, but curious if one touch would be enough to wake her up. She did not wake but Robb watched, in pleased curiosity, as Sascha shifted her body just a bit closer to his own in response. Finding encouragement in that, Robb stroked his hand down the length of her back then back up to her neck, his touch slow and deliberate. He heard her breathing shift, as if she'd begun to awaken but had not yet made the decision to wake. Smiling, he smoothed hair away from her face then took to tracing his fingertips along her jawline, over the ridge of her eyebrow, along the edges of her mouth, and down the length of her nose. This furthered her awakening but she had yet to open her eyes and so Robb grew bolder.

He pressed his lips to her forehead and then to her temple. He then felt her lean into his touch and he wrapped his arm more securely over her shoulders, smiling against her skin when she all but tucked herself under his chin and curled up against his chest. She wasn't much smaller than him and he was surprised at how easily she managed to shrink herself to fit more in his arms. One of her hands moved then, her long fingers curling around his neck, and Robb looked down in time to see her first open her eyes.

There was no disappointment, no fear or confusion; there was a soft smile, a satisfied one, and his name whispered as if in prayer. The sound of his name combined with the willing and consensual touch nearly pushed him off the edge, but Robb reigned in his passion in order to remain slow, steady, and in the moment. There would be time enough for them to hurry into mutual completion. He wanted to do something right, for once, with his wife. And since she was still, technically, a virgin, she deserved his full attention and great care. Robb leaned down and kissed her, slowly, purposefully, drawing out the moment for as long as he could. At first her sleepy body didn't respond much beyond a slight mewling sound in her throat but then the hand on his neck gripped tighter and she pulled her chest, her hips, her whole body against his. Robb smirked and pulled back just enough to look into her face again.

"Good morning wife," he kissed her temple then traced the lines on her face that appeared when she smiled back at him and whispered her mirrored greeting, "pleasant dreams?"

Her cheeks colored and he expected her to look away, giving him an indication of who she'd been dreaming of, but instead she maintained eye contact—despite her embarrassment—and nodded. She surprised him further by kissing him this time, her fingers on his neck inching upward to grip his hair and give a gentle tug. Robb groaned and brought his hand down the length of her back to her hips, pressing her firmly against his arousal. She tipped her head back, away from his lips, and he watched her smile deepen.

"What were you dreaming about?" Robb massaged his fingers against her lower back, one of his legs coming up between her own, but he refrained from pressing it against her, not yet at least.

Sascha's flush deepened and her voice was a lower timbre when she replied, "You."

There was no possible way he could hold back anymore. Robb let out another groan before he sealed his lips on hers while he shifted their bodies on the bed, half laying atop her with his hips against hers, his leg pressed intimately against her, and now both hands cupped her head. He heard a responding moan, felt it in her throat, and she brought both her arms to wrap around his neck and shoulders, pressing him down until their chests were flush against one another. He tasted her, her mouth opening immediately to his touch, and he lost himself more as her tongue mimicked his, tasting him, drawing the kiss deeper and deeper.

Had air not been a requirement for them both, Robb imagined he could kiss his wife for much longer, but he pulled away to gasp in air, hearing her do the same, and began to lavish open mouthed kisses along her jawline to just below her ear, then down her neck along the rapidly beating vein that lay just beneath her thin flesh. Her hips began to move, rubbing herself against his leg. Naked as he was, and with her bedclothes tangled up about her waist, he could feel the warmth of her, the ready moist heat of her own arousal. He'd done this to her. Robb growled as he reached a hand between them and, tearing away the fabric of her bedclothes, he pressed it into the velvety wetness of her sex. Her responding moan, the "please" coming from her lips as they once more sought his, drawing his head down for another long, deep kiss, had Robb dizzy. His fingers began explore her folds and partially due to her still moving hips, he found her entrance and slipped a finger in before either of them expected it.

They shared a moan, Robb pulling his face back so he could watch her as he moved his fingers further, entering her fully with one digit. Her eyes flew open and from her mouth she continued to pant. Her fingers were tight and roaming in his hair before finding purchase on his shoulders. Her inner muscles clenched around his finger and he closed his eyes, memorizing the feel of her warmth, the hot wetness, relishing what was to come.

"Robb." Her voice had him opening his eyes. "More." She leaned up and kissed his neck before leaning up further and drawing his earlobe between her lips in a gentle nip. Robb's hips jerked against her of their own accord. "Please."

Not one to deny, Robb removed his hand and changed their positions, his hips coming to settle between her legs. She drew her legs up, knees bent on either side of his hips, opening herself up to him while she wrapped her arms around his neck. Though a virgin, it seemed his wife was not one to shy away. He reached between them to take hold of his erection, deliberately slow as he rubbed the tip of himself against her wetness. He looked up to see her wet her lips, a near growling sound of want coming from her as her hips jerked upward, as if impatient for him. Maneuvering himself against her entrance, Robb lowered his upper body onto his forearms. With an unhurried pace he began to press forward with his hips, her body first taking the tip of his erection. Robb felt that his heart would burst but he did not want to rush this. Sascha's eyes were wide and she moaned, tossing her head to the side to gasp in breath. He wasn't certain if it was from pain or pleasure but his answer came when she suddenly wrapped her legs around his waist and surged upwards, pulling him fully into her. They both cried out then and stilled, the sensations between them almost too much to stand without immediately coming undone.

And it was then that the sounds of their lovemaking was joined with the soft cries of an infant. Robb turned his head to the side, aware that Sascha did the same, and looked towards the crib that held little Arra. He felt Sascha's inner walls clench against him when she shifted her body underneath him and he groaned, dropping his head against her shoulder. Sascha let her legs fall off his back but made no further move to disengage herself from him. Her arms were still around his shoulders, her fingers in his hair, and for a brief moment Robb wondered if they could continue despite Arra's untimely awakening. But then she found her second wind, it seemed, and her cries grew louder and this time Robb felt Sascha laugh, again her inner walls doing wicked things to his erection—especially since it was obvious they would be unable to continue just yet.

"Either I get up and take her to the wet nurse, or the wet nurse will come in and see us." That Sascha had the ability to sound amused at a time like this had Robb lifting his head and near glaring at her. This only made her smile deepen and one of her hands cupped his face, smoothing away hair and frown, "I'm not too impressed with her timing either. And between the two of us, this has been a much more enlightening morning for me than for you."

Robb smirked, shifting his hips against her once more and earning a sharp gasp and her hands tightening against his shoulders. He'd done this to her. "I don't completely agree with your last statement, Sascha. I'm completely honest when I say I've not had this sort of an experience before." Arra's cries were growing more frantic and he sighed, "And I don't just mean in regards to Arra."

They both shuddered when he withdrew himself from her. He rolled onto his back and pulled the blankets over his hips. He watched as Sascha stood on unsteady legs—he grinned at the sight—and walked over to the crib. Picking up Arra, Sascha cradled her for a moment and hummed a lullaby while she went to the tent flap and disappeared into the wet nurse's adjoining area. Robb took the moment of silence and solitude to reflect on the morning thus far. What Sascha said was true, it had been a most enlightening morning, but far from fully satisfying. Robb sighed and shook his head. No, it had been satisfying. Of course, he still hadn't cum but their marriage had technically been consummated, he now knew that Sascha desired him as much as he desired her, and based off the previous night's conversations and this morning's activities, it seemed that they were well on their way to becoming husband and wife in every way.

Sascha returned from the adjoining room and Robb watched her cheeks flush as she looked at him. _She must like what she sees_, Robb thought to himself. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he stood and shamelessly walked over towards her, his smile broadening when he saw her blush even more and strive hard to keep her eyes upon his face. Once he was close enough, he wrapped a hand around the base of her neck and drew her close, his other arm settling around her ribs and pulling her into an embrace. He kissed her again, slow and deep, and she responded immediately by wrapping her arms around his waist and holding herself tight against him.

He would've been content to continue what they'd so suddenly had to pause but he heard a guard call his name by the entrance and he stopped. He felt more than heard Sascha laugh and he sighed, again dropping his head against her shoulders.

"We've the rest of our lives, Robb." Sascha whispered into his ear and he raised himself up to stare into her eyes. She was sincere, her gaze full of warmth and tenderness and Robb felt robbed of breath and sense for a moment in the face of such genuine affection. "Just now's not the time."

Robb chuckled and kissed her once more before he released her, "Seems your right."

He quickly jerked on his bedclothes while Sascha picked up a robe and set about pouring water into a basin for a quick morning wash. He greeted the guard with little cordiality, who could blame him, but his annoyance soon turned to a strange mixture of hopeful despair as he read the dispatches the guard had brought from an arrived raven. Sascha must've sensed the change in him and immediately came to his side once the guard left to gather together his war council as he'd instructed him.

"It seems that Stannis Baratheon and his troops have taken Deepwood Motte from the Ironborn and are now marching towards Winterfell with Mormont and Glover allies."

Sascha nodded, "That's good news, I suppose, for now. What else? There's something else isn't there?"

"Ramsay Bolton is holding my brother Rickon hostage in Winterfell as well." Robb clenched his fist, crinkling the parchment as he did so.

Sascha held out her hand and Robb handed over the messages. He let her read at her own rate while he readied himself for the day. His thoughts were array and he had trouble concentrating on one thing. Though it could be a ruse, his brothers had both been reported as dead by the Ironborn, there was also the possibility that it wasn't. He wouldn't put it past Theon Greyjoy to lie about such a thing had his brothers escaped the fray of battle; Theon had always been arrogant and impulsive, much as Robb had been before as well. But did he want to risk that in his next actions? With a smaller contingency of only the best of his fighting men, he could push to join the Baratheon forces outside Winterfell within four, maybe three and a half, days. But what of Sascha, his mother, and the others here?

"You have to go." Sascha's voice had him turning around, his fingers working to finish the knot in his belt. At his look she held up the letters, "Ruse or not, this is a unique opportunity that may not come again. Ramsay Bolton took Winterfell from the Ironborn and now Stannis Baratheon, for whatever reason, had decided to root him out along with the Ironborn. Be it to win you over to his side for the next stage of the game of thrones or not, if you act now you would have his forces by your side to aid in getting rid of the Boltons."

Robb moved to stand in front of her and took her free hand, "But what of you?"

Sascha's glare then made him feel every bit six years younger than she, "My men are here, and you can leave just enough men to satisfy yourself, but the women and children you leave behind are far from helpless. Your mother is a force to contend with, I'm sure you know, and we don't need to speak of Arya. We are not in enemy territory here and we aren't so far from Frey lands that a raven or two couldn't fetch some more help from my kin if need be."

"Lord Stark," Jon Umber's voice outside the entrance to the tent sounded then, "the war council is ready."

Sascha squeezed his hand, "You do what only you can do, Robb, and let us do what we need to do as well."

How did he deserve her? Robb leaned forward and pressed another kiss to her lips before turning to leave. He paused however, and looked over his shoulder to her, "You'll join us when you're dressed?"

Her smile was one of surprise but she nodded and eagerly turned to ready herself. Robb left the tent feeling like a man, more than he had in a very long time, even if he was about to face another bloody trial.

* * *

From Dream to Reality: Sascha

"Lady Stark."

Both Sascha and Catelyn Stark raised their heads from their packing at the approaching guard. He hesitated but a moment before he moved to stand in front of Sascha. He handed over a letter before leaving them again. Sascha frowned. It was unlikely that Robb would've sent a raven; he and his men had been gone but a day and they would be riding too hard to even bother writing.

"What is it?" Arya stepped closer, her arms full of a squirming Arra. The little infant may not understand words yet but she understood the immediacy of the current times, the constant hum of activity that had been going on since the morning before when the war council voted to send forces north to work with the Baratheon's against the Bolton's. Her little body would shake on occasion, not from cold or fear, but from excitement and she'd been damned hard to get to sleep the night before. Sascha had also found it difficult to fall asleep: the bedsheets and pillows smelled of Robb and her body ached for him now in a way it hadn't before.

Shaking her head to clear it of any tender thoughts, Sascha tensed when she recognized the seal on the outside of the letter: a flayed man. She broke the seal and quickly read the letter. With a growl, she surged to her feet and took to pacing, ignoring for the time being Catelyn's parroted questions, similar to Arya's initial one. Only once she finished reading did she stop pacing and look up. She didn't take time to explain to the other women before she went to the tent flap and called for Wolfred, the captain of her men.

"Will you stand still and tell us what's going on." Catelyn came to stand in front of Sascha once she turned around towards them again. "Is it Robb? Rickon?" Her hands began to clench together in front of her.

"It was an invitation from Roose Bolton."

"A bloody what?" Arya gasped, only barely mindful of the fact that she still held an infant.

Sascha nodded and looked back to the letter again, "It is an invitation from Roose Bolton to come and claim our lost possessions within a few days' time or else he will toss them to the burn pile."

"Our possessions?" Catelyn tipped her head to the side then reached a hand for her throat. "Does he mean Robb or Rickon? Were they intercepted?"

"No," Sascha moved past the women towards her trunk, "he means Lady Brienne of Tarth and Jamie Lannister." She quickly began pulling out clothing best suitable for the plan that had begun formulating in her mind and spoke over her shoulder to the other women as she moved about. "He's captured them and is holding them as collateral. No doubt he is aware of the Baratheon forces marching on Winterfell, though I'll be damned if I know why he hasn't gone to join his bastard there and is instead insisting upon playing games at Castle Cerwyn."

"Did he write the letter to you or to Robb?" Catelyn moved closer and picked up the letter Sascha had discarded on the bed in her efforts to get ready.

"He didn't address it to anyone in particular but I doubt he's so up and coming to know that Robb's broken off from us and is on his way to Winterfell. No doubt he won't expect what's about to happen." Sascha smirked to herself as she pulled out her sword, her friend and companion that had been unused for too long. She hadn't had time to train as she'd once did, not with all the work with the inventions and then the traveling and such. She was out of practice but she had a trick or two she could pull if backed into a corner.

"What is about to happen, Sascha?" Catelyn moved again, this time to stand by Sascha's side and she reached out to take hold of Sascha's wrist. "Please, tell us what is about to happen before any others come."

Sascha nodded, "Of course. I intend to take Roose Bolton up on his offer, but not as he expects. I also intend on protecting Robb's heir from any threat while at the same time aiding his endeavors."

"So nothing too difficult I see." Arya chuckled as she went over towards the wet nurse's room and disappeared inside it for a moment.

Wolfred arrived in the time Arya was away and Sascha instructed that all her men and the leaders of the bannermen left behind meet in the war tent in a few minutes' time. That done she turned her attention back to Catelyn and Arya.

"The only way we're going to survive this without becoming casualties and victims is if we go on the offensive. We've been on the defensive side for too long and they expect us to remain so. Roose Bolton doesn't know, yet, that Robb is on his way to fight Ramsay. We use that to our advantage. I am going to propose that we break up into three groups." Catelyn looked ready to argue but Sascha hurried on. "Arya and Gendry and a smaller group of the most vulnerable will go to Greywater Watch and will stay with our Reed allies until this blows over. We'll send a raven on ahead of them requesting a guide and giving a little background with our request."

"Why the need for us to hide out?" Arya didn't sound too pleased with the fact that she'd been lumped into the group of "vulnerables."

"If we have received word of Stannis Baratheon's movements, then I've no doubt that our new queen in the south has as well and based upon what's been said of her I wouldn't be surprised if within the next few days her forces begin to come up King's Road on their way to face him down. Anything between will be a threat and eradicated." Arya's jaw tensed and she nodded. Sascha continued, "The Starks are in a vulnerable position right now. We've made pledges to one queen and a near usurping king is now stepping up to our aid. We must tread carefully if we're going to come out of this mostly unscathed."

"So who are the other two groups and what will they be doing?" Catleyn asked this, aware that time was precious and it was quickly getting away from them.

Sascha pointed to Catelyn, "You'll take the remaining bannermen and head to White Harbor. Any spies will report to the queen of this, the Bolton's as well, and will keep eyes away from Reed lands and elsewhere. Once in White Harbor you will commission barges to take you up the White Knife towards Winterfell. Keep your eyes and ears open for news while you travel, and adjust as need be, but we can hope that by the time you arrive at Winterfell, the outcome will have been decided in our favor and you'll be arriving in time for the next phase: rebuilding or fighting off a new enemy."

"And what of you?" Arya stepped closer, her hand coming down to rest on her small sword. "You said mother needs to create a diversion by taking the brunt of our forces to White Harbor to keep eyes off the Reeds and elsewhere. What do you intend to do?"

"It is not in my nature to turn down an invitation." Sascha's smile turned deadly and she was aware of how the sight of it seemed to make Catelyn uncomfortable but created a similar smile on Arya's face. "I will take my men and we will infiltrate Castle Cerwyn. We'll fulfill the invitation from Roose Bolton and we'll give him our personal regards as well. We should be there within two days, before Robb gets to Winterfell, and about the time you two would get to your destinations as well."

Catelyn nodded her understanding, "You intend to rescue Lady Brienne and Jamie Lannister?"

"And bring an end to Roose Bolton for all the trouble he's caused us, yes."

Wolfred called from the entrance, letting them know that everyone was waiting. Sascha didn't immediately move to join the others. She wanted confirmation from these two women that they understood, that they believed in her strategy, and that they'd follow through. It was Catelyn who, surprisingly, was the first to move forward and take her hand, squeezing it firmly.

"We will do as you say, Lady Stark." Arya stepped forward and patted her on the shoulder; Sascha would've keeled over in shock if the girl had also held her hand.

"Well then," Sascha squeezed Catelyn's hand once before she stepped back and gestured towards the tent's entrance, "after you."

It was only behind their backs that Sascha allowed herself a moment to close her eyes and bow her head, offering up a desperate prayer to any gods listening.

* * *

From Dream to Reality: Robb cont.

Robb almost didn't recognize him. He was a man now, no longer the fat-cheeked boy who'd left Winterfell so long before. They'd never been close then, but that distance didn't seem to matter anymore. Not after so much loss and in the face of the unknown. Robb supposed he had equally changed, if the silent scrutiny mirrored back at him was any indication. Robb smirked. At least one thing had stayed the same: the unruly hair.

"He don't look much like you." The giant of a man sitting diagonal from Robb broke the silence. He was speaking to the dark-haired man beside him. "I'd say he's prettier. Almost fuckable with that cheeky smile."

Robb's eyes widened but his shock was interrupted by a curt chuckle from the man across from him, "Oh shut up Tormund." The man leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the object between them. "He's just trying to get a rise out you. That's what they do, always out to test your mettle and see what you're made of." Robb watched as his half-brother's eyes traveled along the faces of Robb's bannermen, all sitting beside him at the makeshift table they'd made from the fallen tree between them.

Robb allowed his own eyes to travel past Jon and his red-haired harpy friend to the men and women standing behind his half-brother. Some were dressed in animal furs, others had seashells adorning their furs, and still others had what looked to be facial tattoos or face paint. The ones that had Robb questioning his half-brother's sanity were those who had taken to decorating their outfits with what looked to be the bones of other humans. Prior to sitting down together, Robb with his bannermen and Jon with his own, Robb thought he'd even seen the likes of a giant or two somewhere amid Jon's forces. They weren't an overwhelming number, but what they lacked in size they more than made up in intimidating looks, and there were also the unknown factors of what to expect from them during an actual fight, and in the afterwards of a fight as well. That Jon had the ability to command such a group, and it was obvious to Robb that he did have their loyalty, made Robb look at his half-brother in a different way. He found a newfound respect for the man sitting across from him and he was grateful to have this opportunity to fight alongside him.

After three days riding, just west of Winterfell between Crofter's Village and Winterfell itself, Robb and his own men had been caught off guard when they'd come across some of Jon's scouts. Seeing as they were Wildlings, there'd very nearly been a skirmish but then one of the scouts had recognized Robb, and Robb too had recognized the scout as one of the lads who'd once pestered the customers at the tavern, wanting a handout or two or else taking it by force. That had been what'd sent him and others like him to the Wall. They'd been brought to Jon and his forces after that, who'd made camp just on the edge of Wolfswood. The Baratheon forces had yet to arrive by they were expected by the next day at the latest.

The reunion between the half-siblings had been a strange yet relieving one. Robb hadn't known how much Jon was aware of, regarding the fates of their father, sisters, and brothers, but from the way Jon's gaze had softened, albeit only a little, when first catching sight of Robb, he'd felt that Jon was aware of enough to know that there weren't many Stark's left. Their embrace had been strong but brief, and in those first moments Robb had told Jon the fates of their siblings and Jon told Robb the fate of their uncle Benjen. After that it'd been business.

Stannis Baratheon had been with Jon at the Wall and it was partially because of Stannis that Jon was now at Winterfell. Stannis' forces had helped repel a counterattack from a rival Wilding leader, further solidifying Jon's claim as leader of the unified Wildings and Lord Commander of the Wall. Jon had come south of the Wall with much of his Wildling allies to try to recruit more allies for the Wall, against the White Walkers. It had taken a few minutes to convince Robb and the rest of his bannermen, Jon Umber the most, that White Walkers even existed. But Jon's eyes were not crazed but were in earnest as he'd told tale after tale of what had been occurring the far north, and the fact that the various tribes of Wildlings now stood by Jon as their leader and were unified against a common enemy, that also told Robb that what Jon said was true.

As for why Stannis Baratheon would make such an effort to secure the north: he was working to gain allies against the southern kingdom and the new Iron Throne Queen. He was gambling that if he helped the old liege lords of the north eradicate a rebellious house then all the north, including the Starks, would follow his lead in another rebellion against King's Landing. While Robb understood the reasoning behind Stannis' efforts, and he was very much in favor of using the support for the time being, he had yet to decide if he was willing to commit to standing against a queen who had three dragons at her disposal. She still had Sansa at court and Robb had bent his knee to her, securing the north's relative freedom from her wrath or direct rule. If he sided with Stannis he'd be putting his family back into the fray of another war.

From the fatigued look upon Jon's face, it seemed that he too was tired of political games. If what he said was true, regarding the White Walkers, then just who sat upon an iron throne was of little importance. The true fight was for survival, not a throne, and Robb believe it would be much easier to convince his own men to get behind that sort of rallying cry faster than one regarding petty political arguments.

"Lord Stark," one the Karstark's approached the council then, "a messenger arrived from Winterfell. It seems that Ramsay Bolton would like to meet with you on the field to discuss the terms of our surrender."

"Our surrender?" Tormund scoffed and pounded his fist against the tree, several grunts and murmurs coming from both the Wildlings and Robb's own bannermen. "Why don't we discuss how quickly I can shove my hand up his arse, eh?"

Robb ignored Tormund's comment and instead looked over to Jon. They'd yet to come to a conclusive attack formation. Jon's Wildling's had drastically different battle tactics from Robb and his forces, and then there were the few cannons of Sascha's that some of his bannermen had managed to bring with them that had them discussing strategy further. Now it seemed they were to be delayed more.

"Does the message say whether or not I may bring a second?"

The Karstark shook his head, "No milord."

"Care to join me then?" Robb gestured with his head towards the field, his eyes level with Jon.

Jon seemed reluctant to leave his men but eventually he agreed and soon enough Robb and Jon rode out to the halfway point between Wolfswood and Winterfell, out of range from the ramparts and the forest. Two riders came out to meet them, revealing themselves to be Ramsay Bolton and a pitiful looking creature who barely passed as a man. There was still a space between the four of them, and for a moment no one spoke. Only Ramsay smiled, a manic crazed smile, while the creature hovering just to the side of him kept his eyes downward. Jon remained stoically silent by Robb's side and Robb refused to be the first to break the silence. His horse, however, didn't seem to agree and let out a snort then lifted his tail and relieved himself.

Ramsay laughed, "Thank the gods for your horse shitting, Stark, that was getting very tense."

"You didn't call us out here for a staring contest or to discuss my horse's bowel movements, Bolton." Robb growled.

"That's true. Traditions are important, for where are we without our history?" Ramsay continued to speak in a good-natured way, as if he were completely unaware of anyone disliking him. It grated on Robb's nerves. "I do believe this is Jon Snow, your bastard half-brother no?" Ramsay grinned at Jon, who continued to remain silent. "We bastards can rise high on the wind, can't we? Oh I don't think I've introduced you to my pet, Reek." Ramsay reached out and seized the reigns of the accompanying horse and pulled until the creature/man was adjacent him. "You might have known him by a different name, however."

Robb sucked in his breath and stared more intently at his former friend turned enemy turned…into what it was he was now. "What did you do to him?"

"Peeled off a few unneeded bits and removed a few others. Trained him, slow learner that he is, and now he's as loyal as my hounds. Aren't you Reek?"

"Yes, master." The voice might've once been Theon's but now it was hollow and broken and though Theon had brought this upon himself Robb couldn't help but pity the man.

Robb turned his gaze back upon Ramsay and he watched as Ramsay feigned a look of surprise, "You think I'm some sort of savage. I'm a man of mercy, Stark. He and his kin attacked your home, razed your lands, and killed many of your people. What I've done to this creature is merciful in comparison to what you would've done, is it not?"

"Death is sometimes a mercy." Jon murmured by Robb's side.

Ramsay tipped his head back and laughed, "No, Snow, death is a weak out. My pet here is too strong for death." He let go of Theon's reigns and gestured to the fortress behind him. "Do you like my new home? I believe there's an old tradition of 'finders keepers.'"

"You will not keep Winterfell." Robb tightened his grip on his reigns and sat up straighter in his saddle. "We will raze it to the ground before we let you keep it."

Ramsay smirked, "Oh you're thinking that with your combined forces," he pointed between Robb and Jon, "and with the pretender joining in," referring to Stannis, "you'll starve me out?" He let out another laugh before he nodded to Theon. Theon raised a red ribbon in response, his eyes still upon the ground. "How good are your eyes, Stark? And yours Snow? Why don't you take a look at the wall just behind me."

Robb hesitated but a moment before he looked past Ramsay. He could see a frail looking figure held on the edge of the wall. Even from this distance he knew it to be Rickon. As he continued to watch, his eyes moving along the wall and back to Ramsay, he saw something dropped over the edge of the wall. He stood up in his stirrups, afraid at first that it'd been Rickon, but then as he concentrated he saw that it was instead Shaggydog, Rickon's direwolf. The animal's body jerked and quivered a few times, and Robb could see his brother struggling against his captors, before it stopped but continued to swing lifelessly in the wind. Rickon disappeared from view then and Robb brought his attention back to the bastard in front of him.

Watching him carefully, Ramsay seemed to notice the chink in Robb's demeanor and he smirked, "Oh how the mighty have fallen. You see Stark, the minute an arrow flies against my forces your brother will meet the same fate as his pet. And that's not all. My father holds Castle Cerwyn." Ramsay's grin broadened as he held out his hand and Theon placed inside it letter. "'I have with me Stark's lost friends, Brienne of Tarth and Jamie Lannister.'" Ramsay glanced up at Robb, "I can only assume he's talking about you here, though I can hardly imagine you having friends. Oh," Ramsay held up his hand to stop Robb from talking, "I'm not finished. I don't like to be interrupted. Do I Reek?" Theon shook his head, his body quivering slightly as if in remembrance of might've happened in the past whenever Ramsay was interrupted. "'I've extended an invitation for his wife to join me at Castle Cerwyn and as I was once acquainted with her previous husband, know her father quite well, and have also had the privilege of meeting her on occasion, I've no doubt that she'll take me up on my offer. By the time you read this message, she will be knocking on my door.'"

Robb felt ice in his veins and found it difficult to breathe. It could be a fake, how could Roose have known that Robb would've left Sascha behind to face down Ramsay, but nothing about either Bolton's gave Robb the freedom to believe that it was. He too knew his wife and if she'd been told by Bolton that Jamie and Brienne were held hostage she would've certainly mobilized her men to try to rescue them. Whether or not she would've left his mother and sister back in the Neck or had them moved, Robb couldn't guess just yet.

"Now," Ramsay handed the letter back to Theon and sat up straighter in his saddle, looking smug and content, "dismount and kneel before me. Declare me the true Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North."

Robb glanced over to Jon. His brother was much better at masking his emotions than Robb it seemed; he couldn't gage what it was his brother was thinking or feeling. But he knew that, without question, the option of kneeling in front of this madman was not truly an option.

"Do I need to ask a second time? I hate having to ask a second time."

Robb held up his hand, "I do not have the authority on my own to declare such a thing. Surely you realize that." He indicated the forest behind him. "I have my bannermen to discuss the matter with, and the Lord Commander of the Wall also must discuss with his officers what they will next. Though we are half-kin, our forces are independent of one another. I cannot offer a guarantee either, for the Baratheon forces should they arrive."

"You don't particularly hold your brother's life in high regard do you Stark?" Ramsay looked ready to raise another ribbon, a black one.

Robb continued before he could, "Whether I hold anyone's life in high regard is obsolete in this instance. It is true that you have things and people of mine that puts me at a disadvantage. But the presence of Baratheon so close also puts you in a precarious position. Surely you know that the south has fallen into the hands of the Khaleesi and her dragons. Do you think she will allow you to hold onto Winterfell or the North after you've tried to destroy her newly established ally?" Robb indicated himself.

"And you think it will look good for you if you fight with the Baratheon forces against me?" Ramsay scoffed. "It seems we're back where we started Stark. As I said before, I'm a merciful man. I'll give you two hours to discuss with your men the terms of your surrender and then have a messenger sent to me. I'll be having dinner with your brother near the kennel. Your message will determine if my hounds will continue their fasting or if they'll be feasting tonight."

"You will hear from me before that time." Robb looked over to Theon then. "This was Balon Greyjoy's son and heir, Theon Greyjoy." He watched as Theon's face flushed a bit. "Whatever happens between us, I ask that you release him into my custody so that he may be judged for his actions according to Stark traditions."

"Why would I want to give up such a loyal pet?" Ramsay laughed. "After all the hours of training? No, Stark. I'll not part with him."

Robb kept his eyes on Theon as he spoke, "Whatever happened in the past can be atoned for in the present. Our futures are determined by our actions not our passivity. Real men are makers of destiny, not accepters of it." Turning his eyes back to Ramsay he allowed a smirk of his own, "I'm sure you'd agree."

"Beautifully flat words, Stark. Tick-tock, time is escaping you." Ramsay jerked his reigns to the side and turned back towards Winterfell.

Before he turned his horse as well, Theon-turned-Reek glanced up briefly and in that moment Robb nodded his head towards his old friend. Ramsay calling out his name, his new name, had Theon quickly turning away and following behind his "master."

"What was that about?" Jon asked once they too had turned back towards their men.

Robb sighed, "Sowing the seeds of discontent. A pet is only loyal so long as he's fed. If he finds more food, and better treatment, from a different master then disloyalty can be encouraged."

"You think he'll turn on Ramsay?"

Robb shook his head, "I've no idea."

They rode the rest of the way back to their men in silence. Robb tried to keep images of what might be happening to either his wife or brother far from his mind. He couldn't risk losing them by reacting to Ramsay's taunts. That was what Ramsay was counting on. He had to keep a level head, stay in the moment, but think long term if any of them were going to survive to see another day: be it dark or otherwise.


	12. And They All Fell Down

_Unapologetic in my changing of things with plotline or characters or events. That's the point of these stories. If you like the original then…read the original. __J__ In any case, absolutely no fluff in this chapter. Political discussions, bloodshed, death, and more political discussions. If that's what you like then voila you got it. Hopefully will be back to the softer side of life in the next chapter or two._

* * *

And They All Fell Down: Sascha

Sascha stared at the plate of food in front of her, aware of the fact that she really hadn't eaten a proper meal in almost a full day; but she was equally aware of the fact that if she ate something now she would hurl it up almost immediately. The source(s) of her nausea sat at either ends of the great table in front of her. Looking to her left, Sascha made eye contact with the gagged and bound Brienne of Tarth. Her face was smashed and broken and no doubt the gash coming down across her forehead and cutting towards her eye would leave a scar, but she was alive (for now). Jamie Lannister sat similarly at the opposite end of the table, his face swollen from a similar beating but much of his physical damage had been rendered to his fighting hand, which now looked more like a bloody pulp than a hand strapped useless on the spiked armrest of his chair. They were both tied to iron chairs, torture devices concocted from the minds of sadistic maesters. Sascha didn't need to look at the floor to know that pooling beneath both chairs was blood, shed from the numerous puncture wounds the iron spikes in the chairs rendered upon both Jamie and Brienne's arms, backs, rears, and legs. They could not speak, could barely move, and the weight of their bodies was slowly yet surely causing them to bleed out (eventually to death) as they sank further onto the spikes. They would on occasion make gurgling moaning sounds in their efforts to relieve the pressure their body weight caused, but this couldn't last for much longer.

Breaking eye contact with Brienne, marginally bolstered by the obvious determination in the fierce woman's gaze, she looked back to the man seated across from her. Looking for all the world as if he were entertaining royalty and did not have torture devices with victims on either side of him at the same table, Roose Bolton continued to eat his meal unaffected. Sascha shifted her weight, very much aware of the fact that her own chair did not have spikes, and refrained from drumming her fingers on the table. She tried to push past her anger, and her fear. She needed to. She'd already lost Wolfred and a few other of her men, the half dozen rest now being held in the dungeon and subjected to the gods knew what sort of treatment. If she didn't tread carefully now then it was very likely that both Brienne and Jamie would die, not to forget her own skin that could become unattached from her body (especially considering present company).

"Are you not hungry, Lady Stark?" Roose's deep voice rumbled in the otherwise quiet room. "Have the cooks made something not to your liking? If so I can have a word with them."

Sascha had no doubt he could and would just for the fun of it. She shook her head, "Unlike you, Lord Bolton, I am not accustomed to sharing a meal with bound and gagged individuals." She gestured towards Brienne and Jamie. But suspecting he would offer to dispose of them she added, "Though I much rather have them present for our conversation than miss out on it, since the results of it does involve them."

"Of course," Roose lifted the edge of the table cloth and touched it to the edges of his mouth, "perhaps, to begin, you're wondering how I knew of your separation from Lord Stark and had thusly planned for it here at Castle Cerwyn."

Sascha shook her head, "No, actually, I'm not. I've had some time to sit and reflect." Sascha was sarcastically referring to the hours she'd been kept in the isolation cell in the deepest most part of the dungeon after they'd first been caught. "I think I can see where I erred and put you in the position of power."

"Have you now?" Roose leaned back in his chair, lifting a goblet of mead to his lips. He seemed amused, "How about you tell me what you think you know and I'll be the judge of how accurate you are, hm?"

"No doubt you've been in communication with your son all this time. As the campaigns in the south raged you both had plenty of time to divide up who would take what and what sort of trap to set for the returning forces, if there was to be a return at all." Roose kept his expression neutral and so she continued. "Once word was sent of Robb's alliance with the queen your set your plans into action. You would keep Castle Cerwyn and Ramsay would take Winterfell. I haven't quite worked out how Ramsay managed to get ahold of Rickon Stark, considering he's allegedly been dead for some months now, but it doesn't take too much imagination to suppose either Greyjoy lied to save face when he reported their deaths and they'd really escaped, only to land into Ramsay's hands, or that the boy Ramsay now has is an imposter being used to goad Robb into doing something foolhardy."

Roose placed his empty goblet back on the table, "You're right in that Greyjoy lied about the Stark boys. But it IS the real Rickon Stark that he holds now at Winterfell."

"And what of the other, Bran?"

Roose gave a half shrug, "Taken by the Wildlings for food for all I know or care. Now tell me, Lady Stark, what else have you concluded in your time of reflection? This is becoming most entertaining."

"I know you to be a calculating man, not one to gamble, but most assuredly one to look at the odds and to predict the movements of your prey. My late husband Robar spoke of you and your house on occasion and in that regard he respected you, though he also warned me to avoid you should anything happen to him."

Roose's smile was menacing, "How sensible of him. Now I must say that it is a shame that Robb got to you first," his gaze traveled down the length of what he could see of Sascha and she felt her skin heat under her clothing and armor, "I don't think he's been showing you the proper care and respect that you deserve. I too knew of you Lady Stark, though I must say I prefer your former name of Royce. Robar did well to educate you and guide you into your own; I'm glad he followed through with my advice to petition your father for your hand in marriage. You didn't know that he and I were more than mere acquaintances, did you?" He smirked at her look of shock. "You were the only pleasant looking Frey at the time and your father was most eager to be rid of you and your strange talents that only a few dared to whisper about openly. But I knew of them, Robar did too, and as at the time I was presently married it seemed only fitting that he take you. It would do well to have such talents available to houses such as ours." Roose nodded to himself then. "Of course, your talents would've been wasted if he'd been able to keep you fat with child," Roose's knowing smile made Sascha's stomach clench, "oh yes I knew of his injury. I offered to help him out, being of similar build and coloring no one would've been the wiser that the child was mine and not his. It's a shame he died before we could finalize such plans."

Sascha tried to shut out the implications behind Roose's words. They were easy to throw about, be they lies or truth, and she would have no way to know, not now that Robar was dead and buried. She could waste time in thinking back on her marriage, looking for any truth to Roose's words; she could subject herself to a new form of grief and a sense of betrayal if she fixated on what he was saying. From the look of delight on Roose's face, that seemed to be exactly what he wanted her to do. To aid in her present dilemma, Sascha looked first to Jamie and then to Brienne. They both looked tired but disgusted by Roose and angry. She pictured the faces of Robb, Arra, Arya, Catelyn, and the remaining faces of her men in the dungeon below. She would too could play games.

Sascha turned her gaze back upon Roose, "You have had many wives haven't you, Lord Bolton." Roose tipped his head to the side, as if he were trying to gaze into her mind to see where she was going with this subject change. "From what I remember, you sired Ramsay first, out of wedlock, did you not?" Sascha gave in and reached for her own goblet, suddenly needing to do something with her hands to keep talking. "I can understand after seeing something like him, understanding from an early age that he was 'different' and not in a humane way, how that could prompt you to wed and hope for better offspring." Roose looked ready to offer commentary on her words but Sascha kept talking, "How many wives have you had now, Lord Bolton? I seemed to have lost count. Do you remember all of their names? Or the names of the children you briefly could call your heirs?" She put her goblet back onto the table and leaned forward, "More importantly, do you remember how they all died?" She mimicked his earlier smirk with one of her own. "Ramsay doesn't play nice with others, does he?"

Roose did not look nearly as perturbed as she'd hoped he would look after her accusations (and perhaps there was truth in her words, but she hadn't a clue). Instead he heaved a heavy sigh and assumed a look of fatigued boredom, "What would you do with such an progeny, Lady Stark? Your own flesh and blood? The only piece of you to have survived infancy and that could perhaps further your family line?"

"I remember one of my bastard brothers had a favorite ass," Roose finally looked a bit surprised by Sascha's words and she smiled at him, "A donkey."

"Of course."

"He loved that donkey as if it were his own blood. More than once we found that donkey in his room, sharing his bed, his bath, even his meals. It was a small donkey after all but it was still ludicrous how much he adored this donkey. We all knew that it would be the ruin of him. Who would take a man seriously who refused to go to sleep without having his ass nearby to pet in case he woke up in the middle of the night from a nightmare?" Sascha leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest, watching as Roose mirrored her position in his own chair. "So my father took matters into his own hands." She reached out and took hold of the dinner fork by her trencher and stabbed the bit of beef on her plate, holding it up for Roose to see. "He had the donkey slaughtered, cooked, and fed to my brother." She let the fork and meat clatter back onto the table. "After that, my brother never let anything get in the way of doing the reasonable thing."

"No doubt he never looked at another ass again either." Despite the gravity of the situation Sascha quirked a smile at Roose's comment and saw him do the same. "Now you may choose to believe what you like, Lady Stark, about me and my whereabouts prior to finding yourself sitting across from me in this particular castle. No doubt you've noticed that its previous occupants have been subdued under house arrest and not slaughtered." Sascha nibbled her lower lip; that was true that the Cerwyn household was not dead as she'd expected. "If I tell you that it has taken me nearly as long to get here as it has you and your husband," Sascha raised an eyebrow, "yes I see that you would find that difficult to believe. Did your friends here report to you that I was in Castle Cerwyn, lying in wait for you or any others?" Sascha shook her head. "Ah, no doubt they were too preoccupied trying to tally up the lists of houses who were still loyal to the Starks versus those who had been terrorized enough by my bastard to not be able to give a straightforward answer."

Sascha frowned, "Are you trying to get me to believe that you have had nothing whatsoever to do with the Bolton rebellion against the Starks? You, Roose Bolton, are innocent of that?"

"I am guilty by association, Lady Stark. Prior to riding south with your beloved husband, I made the unfortunate decision to name Ramsay legitimate and a rightful heir to Dreadfort, should I not remarry and have another child of course."

"Oh, of course." Sascha took a long sip of her mead, only partially worried that it was poisoned.

"It took a devil of a time to get up this far, what with your beloved allies attacking me hither and thither, blaming me for the actions of my bastard son. If I have taken any military action against your sworn houses it has been purely in self-defense." He laid a hand over his heart, if he had one, and Sascha barely reigned in the snort she so wanted to make. "Our communication had solely been on how to eradicate the Ironborn from the north and it was only after my arrival in the more northerly territories that I became increasingly aware of my son's actions. When I asked him why, he said he'd done it to please me. He asked me, 'why cannot the Bolton's be the wardens in the north, as brutal and cunning as a dragon queen in the south?' He said, 'the time of the wolf is over, he's been drowned by the Ironborn or eaten by the lion, and it is our chance to feast upon his fallen flesh.'" Roose raised his hands in the air as if in supplication. "Lady Stark, how would you respond to such things?"

"I certainly wouldn't risk dragon fire. The Starks have been declared the Wardens in the North by the Iron Queen herself and I've no doubt that anyone who seeks to challenge her will be on the receiving of such fire." Sascha shook her head. "The war in the south is over, Lord Bolton, and the Starks bent their knee to the side that won."

"Ah," Roose smirked, "but you see wars never really end, do they? The current war is but a continuation of the last. The nature of wars is that no one is ever satisfied with the outcome. As we speak, Stannis Baratheon's forces are marching towards Winterfell, you knew that before you came here." Sascha gritted her teeth. "I'm not so sure the former khaleesi will look kindly upon the Starks once she sees that they've fought together with the Baratheons against the Boltons. Not much would need to be said to convince her that the Boltons had, all this time, been trying to retain the north for her to rule instead of the Stark's betrayal in favor of a usurping king." At her look of anger Roose raised a hand, "I'm merely pointing out the facts, Lady Stark. It would not take much to be said by anyone in the north for her to come that conclusion based on the advice of her own war council in the south. There are always sides to be taken, Lady Stark, and once you take that side you must face the consequences."

"So you intend upon continuing this rebellion and risking the wrath of a dragon queen? There is no guarantee that she would believe the rumors you've just set forth. It is entirely possible that she would see through the ruse and burn your entire house into history." Sascha waved a hand in the air. "I am tired of playing these games, Lord Bolton. Logically speaking we can both agree that it makes sense, honor or integrity be damned, to pick the winning side if your goal is longevity and survival. From what I've known of you, you've always been inclined to pick such a side, preoccupied as you are with lineages and family lines. So then pick the winning side. If you think allowing your son to continue this uprising, pitting your house against the remaining houses loyal to the Starks in the north, and perhaps even the dragon queen in the south, is the winning side then I fault you not for choosing that side. Look at whichever side has the superior weaponry and resources, the greater ability to withstand attacks and by the gods sacrifice whatever needs sacrificing in order to be on that side."

The room was silent then, aside from the gurgling moans coming from Jamie as he shifted on his chair. Roose watched her carefully, like a predator did prey, but Sascha would not cower. She was angry, tired, hungry, and completely over all the political mind games nobles liked to play. This was why she had been such good friends with Tyrion Lannister; he'd get just as fed as us she. She hadn't the stomach for these things.

"Congratulations, Lady Stark." Roose broke the silence as stood up and bowed his head towards her. "I will keep the Lannister under my protection, as collateral with the khaleesi. I'm sure you understand that." Sascha gripped her hands tight. "But you and your friend here are free to accompany me and my men."

Guards came out of the shadows and began to unstrap both Jamie and Brienne. Sascha stood up as well, "Accompany you and your men where?"

Roose looked over his shoulder from the doorway, "Why to Winterfell of course."

* * *

And They All Fell Down: Robb

"Challenge the bastard to single-man combat." Robb looked up and watched as Davos Seaworth thrust a hand over his shoulder in the direction of the castle. "From one bastard to another, no offense." Jon shrugged at Davos' apologetic loook. "Seems the most fitting."

Robb looked back to Jon to see what his half-brother thought, his mind only straying for a moment upon the who and how of Davos Seaworth, the Onion Knight. He'd heard of him from some of his own men, how he'd once been a smuggler and had been knighted by Stannis Baratheon out of recompense for services. He'd been a bit taken aback, then, to find him within Jon's forces and not Stannis'. He later found out that Stannis himself had sent Davos to the Wall on a foolhardy mission to recruit more men in the fight against the Ironborn. It had been once Davos was well and gone that Stannis had sacrificed his own daughter to the red god to ensure victory at Deepwood Motte. The priestess who Stannis once followed had since been reported missing, though Stannis continued to march forward on the mission to reclaim the Iron Throne even without her presence in his ranks. It was no surprise that upon finding out such things, Davos had preferred to stay with Jon the bastard Lord Commander instead of joining the daughter-burning usurper.

"Aye," Jon was speaking, "I'm in favor of sending such a message but what if he refuses to fight an unrecognized bastard? We're fighting for Winterfell here, not for the Wall." Jon shook his head. "I'm not Lord Stark, nor will I ever be. If Ramsay refuses to fight me then," Jon looked to Robb and Robb nodded in agreement.

"I'll fight him." A humming-like growl from near his feet had him adding, "We'll need to restrain Grey Wind though. He won't take kindly to me facing down Ramsay and if Ramsay starts to best me, he'll like as much to kill and bring about an end to Rickon if not us all if we don't take proper precautions."

It took some imaginative work but as they awaited the response from Ramsay they managed to restrain Grey Wind. By the time they'd finished that the messenger returned with Ramsay's response. It was as Jon had assumed, Ramsay would only fight Lord Stark for Winterfell. The combined Stark/Wildling forces gathered into battle formation at the edge of the forest and the Bolton's did likewise on the ramparts of Winterfell and just outside its walls as well. Only Robb rode out to meet Ramsay, who had made it to the meeting point first. He looked eager, like a child on his name day, and his joyous delight over what was to come had Robb's stomach twisting.

He looked past Ramsay towards Winterfell, his eyes searching for his brother.

"You won't find him there, Stark." Ramsay's chipper sounding voice had Robb's teeth on edge. "He's having a picnic near the kennels. Should something happen to me, well, something will happen to him." At Robb's look Ramsay grinned, "You didn't think you could have Winterfell AND your brother too did you? Tsk tsk, Stark. You're still thinking like a child." Ramsay unsheathed his sword; Robb did the same. "Perhaps I should train you like I did Reek."

As an afterthought, Robb realized that Ramsay's strength came from his taunts, just like Jon's Wildlings. It put Robb on edge, threw him off center, and allowed Ramsay the offensive position. While Robb was skilled in battlefield tactics from his campaigns in the south, nothing could've prepared him for the sheer brutality of Ramsay's attacks. There was no honor in his movements, no predictability. He would allow Robb a glancing blow just so he could come closer to do more damage to Robb himself. Within only a matter of minutes both men were bloodied and panting, only Ramsay continued to manically grin while Robb barely kept himself standing. Ramsay had managed to break Robb's ankle in the last melee. His nondominant arm was likely dislocated as well. Ramsay had a nice hole in his side, Robb was satisfied to see, but nothing vital had been damaged.

"I've always wanted to kill a wolf." Ramsay giggled. "You know slit its throat, skin it, eat its meat, and wear its fur. Do everything myself." He crouched into an attack position. "I'm so glad you're giving me the opportunity to do so."

Robb managed to deflect the first few attacks from Ramsay but was caught off guard when they both heard a cry of alarm come from Winterfell. In the momentary distraction, the hilt of Ramsay's sword crashed into Robb's face. With a cry of pain, he lost his grip on his own sword and brought his hands up towards his face. With one good eye, Robb looked down in horror to see what was left of his left eye staring back up at him from his hands. As if from a great distance, he heard Ramsay speaking and he looked up again. He was growing dizzier, from loss of blood and the pain, but he was still with it enough to take in Ramsay's crazed expression as he pulled his sword back for the finishing blow. Robb dropped his hands to his sides and waited, picturing in his mind the faces of the ones he loved.

* * *

And They All Fell Down: Sascha Cont.

The acrid smell of burning flesh met them first, the distant smoke becoming not so distant now as they rode closer to Winterfell on the Kings Road. It was obvious in the field between Winterfell and the Wolfswood that a battle had taken place not long before, perhaps a day. Uniforms of Starks and their bannermen were mixed with what looked to Wildlings and, to Sascha's relief, Bolton's as well. As they came closer to the fortress they saw that some more Bolton's lay at the bottom of the ramparts, as if pushed from above and not shot and killed with ballistics.

An arrow whistled by then and their group stopped, Roose, Sascha, Jamie, and Brienne at the front of Roose's forces. They looked up to the top of the closed gate to see the source of the arrow. A Wildling woman stood smirking at them, joined quickly by a man with dark hair and dark cloak and he too by a giant red-haired Wildling man.

"I am Roose Bolton. I've come to retrieve my son, Ramsay."

"I know who you are." The dark man smirked, "Yet who are you to ask that of us? You and your son have plagued these lands with an insurgence and your son now will face punishment per Stark traditions for what he's done. I've a mind to add your death to that." He nodded to the Wildling woman and she in turn raised her bow.

"What of Robb Stark?" Sascha quickly interjected.

The dark man looked to her as if just seeing her, "You're?"

"You're speaking to Lady Sascha Stark, Robb Stark's wife, and my recent guest as Castle Cerwyn." Roose did not at all sound worried that an arrow could soon embed itself in his skull. "With me are also Lady Brienne of Tarth, the sworn sword of Lady Catelyn Stark and the renegade kingslayer Jamie Lannister." Sascha heard Jamie mumble something under his breath and in her peripherals she thought she saw Brienne quickly reach out with her foot as if to kick Jamie's shin in response. "I believe it is our right to discuss any terms with Lord Stark of Winterfell and not his half-brother Jon Snow."

Before the dark man could reply, or anyone could speak further, a lookout raised the alarm and they all looked towards Wolfswood to see the first of the Baratheon forces emerge. Sascha looked up towards Jon Snow and his Wildlings but the expression on his face gave her no indication as to whether or not he was happy to see Baratheon. At her side she saw Roose tense his muscles and shift in his saddle, as if already preparing himself for battle. Sascha mentally groaned as she saw Stannis Baratheon and a few other of his bannermen come forward to speak with them. Even from this distance she recognized the banners of a few of the houses loyal to the Starks: Glovers and Mormonts being the first recognized. Roose's cautionary accusations earlier came back to haunt her. Even without the Starks having to join in, already it seemed there was a division in the north. Houses were indeed choosing sides and Sascha could only hope that those who had chosen the Baratheon side had done so out of foolishness and would be willing to change their minds without having to face dragon fire, or even punishment from the Starks themselves. She knew without having to ask that Robb would not go back on his word to the queen in the south. He was tired of political games as much as anyone else and especially now that they had some semblance of assurance that they could rebuild the north in peace, he would be willing to anger a few houses and do away with Stannis on his own to keep that assurance. Sascha endeavored to abide by such a notion as well.

"I have come from Deepwood Motte; it has been restored to the Glovers and the Ironborn who were killed have fled in their longships." Stannis spoke once they were close enough to talk without having to yell. "I now offer Winterfell the aid of Baratheon forces against further incursion from the Bolton's." Stannis glared at Roose and then past him to Sascha. She raised an eyebrow then sighed. She was now guilty by association, just as Roose had earlier claimed he'd been. How lovely.

"That's most amusing." Roose managed to sound bored when he replied. "For I am here to protect Winterfell and the rest of the north against your usurping forces in the name of both the Starks as well as the queen in the south."

Stannis scoffed, "Who would trust such words coming from the man whose own son has perpetrated gruesome acts of inhumane destruction against the Stark allies for months now?"

Brienne took that time to move her horse forward to reveal her presence to Stannis. In turn, Sascha saw the archers on the wall above them shift to keep all key people in their line-of-sight. As for Jon Snow, the leader of those on the wall, he remained silent and content for the moment to let things play out between the rest of them. Sascha mimicked Roose's movements and pulled her horse backwards just enough to give more room to Brienne. Roose must've judged similarly to Sascha that it would be the likes of Brienne who would determine the outcome of this parlay—and it seemed increasingly obvious that only violence would come of it. Despite her injuries, Brienne still managed to draw herself up into an imposing position and pointed a bloodied arm towards Stannis.

"And who can trust the word or honor of a man who orchestrated his own brother's death with the use of blood magic? The smoke still rises from the pyre you burned your daughter upon." Brienne sneered at Stannis. "You're tainted Baratheon, and only a fool would accept anything from you and your witch's spells."

"This is all ridiculous." Jamie grumbled, cradling his fighting arm with his good one. "Could someone just go ahead and die already so we can get something to drink."

Stannis glared first at Jamie then to Brienne, "I am under no spell and the fools will be those who stand between me and what's rightfully mine. Including those who betray their sworn houses," He leveled his gaze on Roose then swung his eyes up towards Jon Snow who had by this time been joined by several others, "and those who go back on their word." Stannis uttered the last only once his gaze fell on one man in particular who was standing amongst the ranks of those on the wall.

"No betrayal was committed by me. The revolt that has torn the north apart was enacted by my son alone." Roose tapped hand over his armor covered heart. "I have come personally to dispose of him for so grossly abusing my name and for putting my house in jeopardy."

"Ah but you're merely covering your tracks aren't you, Bolton? Trying to atone for earlier betrayals. Do they know of your agreement with the Lannisters," Stannis pointed towards Winterfell then back to Roose, "how you were to be part of an assassination plot against Lord Stark? That you were working together with Lord Frey and would've committed this plot at the Twins?" Stannis' eyes fell on Sascha then and she felt many others come upon her as well, curious or accusing, or both.

She had warned Robb that something terrible would've happened had he not followed through; whether or not Stannis' current accusation against Roose was true, she didn't put it past her father to play both sides. It was most plausible that he would've happily sold the Starks out to the Lannisters if Robb hadn't married her or one of her sisters. And based upon Roose's own tendency to beguile and cajole, what Stannis said could equally be true, though how he knew of these things was beyond Sascha (perhaps his priestess friend had told him).

"Walder Frey's daughter stands with you now as evidence of this fact." Stannis continued, his smile arrogant.

Sascha gasped and quickly yelled contrary to the fact. Brienne also began yelling a number of other accusations at Stannis. He in turn began to bellow and demand things that Sascha lost count of. She hadn't a clue how long they would've continued to sit there at the foot of Winterfell, being watched like fools upon a stage by those on the wall, but Jamie Lannister was the one to stop it all. With what sounded to be, "Fuck this," he'd urged his horse forward and without hesitation rode directly into Stannis' group. Brienne was immediately after, launching herself at Stannis. Behind Stannis the woods erupted in a flurry of yells and action, the Baratheon forces running directly for the Boltons who in turn awaited their lords battle cry. Sascha looked back to wall to see what side they intended to aid. But she saw no movement from them, only a calculated stare coming from Jon Snow. But then her attention was brought back to the attacking forces when she felt something shoved towards her. Looking up she saw her sword being handed her by Roose.

"It's time to pick the winning side Lady Stark." With that he moved his horse forward with the rest of his men and joined in the attack.

Holding her sword tightly and keeping close to her horse's neck, she maneuvered herself behind the line of attack and began to move away from the walls of Winterfell, parallel to the fighting. She wanted to find her men. They'd not been on horses like she, but afoot and tied still. They would be slaughtered by the Baratheon's without question. She didn't have to ride far before she spotted them, tied together in a line by one of the supply wagons Roose had ordered brought with them—as a bribing tool to Robb no doubt. The fighting hadn't quite reached them yet but if the line of Boltons nearest them were overrun then they were done for. Sascha cantered closer.

"Care to survive this melee?" She asked once she positioned her horse between them and the fight.

Her man called Turrin grinned, "I'd rather join it, milady. I've never much liked that lot." He was referring to Baratheon's forces. Not surprising. The Royce's were from islands like Dragonstone and the Baratheon's had often been an irritant over the years.

Sascha used her sword to slice through Turrin's bounds and let him work on the others while she turned back towards the fight. She was glad Roose hadn't insisted upon separating her from her armor or her skin back at Castle Cerwyn because both were going to come in most handy now. She looked back down to see her men arming themselves with whatever was nearby, be it dagger or sword or even club. She looked back to the fight and saw that it was for the most part close to Winterfell and the Kings Road directly by it, the Baratheon forces trying to pin the Bolton's against the walls so they could crush them. There were still some forces in the treeline, reserves no doubt. Sascha stood up in her stirrups and saw that no, they weren't reserves, but they were the Mormont forces. She smirked as an idea began to form.

"Ready?" she asked her men. She didn't have to ask, they were more than ready.

She told Turrin her intention then rode on ahead, outflanking the fight and entering Wolfswood some ways down the Kings Road. Her men followed, though further behind. After a few moments of dodging trees, she more than surprised the Mormont's when she came riding up behind them in the wood. One of the men nearly took a shot at her with his bow but a cry was heard from the front of the ranks once her presence was made known and he lowered his weapon. Sascha held up her sword and her arm and using her legs she prompted her horse forward through their ranks, as they let her, until she was near enough to the leader of the Mormont forces. It was a woman as well, bearing great resemblance, though younger, to Lady Maege.

"You're Stark's wife?" the woman asked, sounding unsurprised by Sascha's sudden appearance. She must've heard some of the yelling earlier, as well as recognized the sigil on her horse's saddle.

Sascha nodded, "You're Lady Maege's daughter?"

"One of them; Alysane." The woman looked back to the fight. It was not going in the Boltons favor. "Did you betray the Starks?" Her gaze was hard when it came back to rest on Sascha.

Sascha smiled, "Do you think I'd be here beside you if I had?" After another moment Alysane nodded and Sascha asked her own question, "Why do you not fight with the Baratheons now?"

"He told us to wait until his signal." They looked back to the field and it was then that they saw one of the Baratheon banner bearers wave his sigil wildly in their direction. "Now that we've seen it," Alysane looked back to Sascha, "give me a reason I shouldn't answer it or kill you now."

"Your liege lord, my husband, has bent his knee to the queen in the south. In return he was awarded the right to rule as the Warden in the North once more, without incursion from her or her dragons." Sascha used her sword to point towards the Baratheon forces. "If you join this fight with the Baratheons it will be seen as betraying not only the Starks but also the Iron Queen. Should the Starks survive this day, they will not stand between you or any other houses who have raised up against the Iron Queen. They will not risk dragon fire, and I advise you Lady Alysane," Sascha gave Alysane a grave nod, "to do the same."

Alysane was quiet. Her captain leaned forward and prompted, "Milady?"

"The Mormonts have stood with the Starks far longer than my lifetime, or that of my mother's." Alysane drew out her sword. "May my breath leave my body before I do otherwise. If you say that the Boltons are fighting for the Starks," Sascha gave a lopsided smile—only half convinced herself that they were—and Alysane nodded, "then we fight the Baratheons." She nudged her horse forward and addressed her men, "They may call us turncoats, betrayers, for what we are about to do." There was a rumble amongst the ranks who could hear her but she continued. "But that is an accusation we will swallow with pride for here we will stand and fight for the Starks and no others."

Her men gave out a resounding hurrah and she turned her horse back towards the fight. On the tail end of the yell she let out another and they crashed forward, the element of surprise on their side as instead of attacking the Boltons they began slaughtering the Baratheons. Sascha had thought that was too easy, convincing the Mormonts to follow her lead, and feared that the ease of it would catch up with her. Not too far from the Wolfswood her fears haunted her when several Baratheon soldiers managed to unseat her from her horse, killing the animal in the process. Turrin and a few of her men repelled much of the Baratheon soldiers who'd attacked but one got by and faced her one-on-one.

Her sword felt heavy in her hands and her movements were too sluggish when he first attacked. There was no way to be on the attacking side for her, she was too out of practice and the fall from the horse had hurt like hell. Further and further back he beat her, away from her men, away from the fight, until it seemed only the two of them fighting on the edge of the woods. He was younger than she, more trained, and therefore was not wearing down as quickly as she. Sascha cried out when he managed to slice through the leather armor on her arm and nick her skin. The cut wasn't too deep but it was enough of a distraction to allow the Baratheon soldier the opportunity to swipe her feet out from under her, causing her to land painfully on her back. He gave out a yell as he brought his sword down at her. Sascha rolled towards him instead of away, taking him down with her. She crawled up the length of him as he struggled to keep his grip on his sword now that he lay on the ground. She punching him once in the face then once in the neck before she rolled off him and went to retrieve her own sword.

When her face hit the dirt, a few tree roots as well, she realized she hadn't hit him hard enough. He was now on her back, his hand tangled in her hair. He used his grip to pull her backwards, to slit her throat she thought. But then he pushed forward and knocked her silly against the ground. Once. Twice. Sascha lost count but continued to try to throw him off her, to no avail. Her face bloodied and covered in the grime of the forest, her head swimming, she barely knew which was up or down when the soldier pulled her back by her hair again, her own hands coming up to try to free herself from his grip. He yanked her onto her back but abruptly let go.

Sascha moaned and grasped about for a weapon. Finding a tree branch only, she seized it and rolled onto her side to face the soldier again. But he was not looking at her anymore. His now terrified gaze was on something further back in the forest. Sascha used her free hand to wipe away blood and muck to see, her hand tightening on the branch as well. When she managed to focus on what it was that had caused the soldier to pause, Sascha smiled and though she felt pain she laughed as well. It was a gleeful laugh, without pity.

* * *

And They All Fell Down: Robb cont.

He was first aware of sound. Distant moans and cries like what he'd often heard after battle. Then more closely the deep nose breathing of someone sitting nearby. Next, he was aware of the pain. His face felt on fire, pounding and throbbing like a giant's drum. His ankle and shoulder were equally inflamed and it seemed his lungs were filled with fiery ice, threatening to fail him with every breath he took. He tried to raise his good hand to reach for his face, aware of numerous bandages covering it. But a smaller hand, strong in its grip but cold, stopped him, and Robb heard a dog-like whimpering noise. It took some time for him to convince his brain that he still had one eye left to use but eventually he blinked the world into focus and looked to the side. It was strange, seeing with one eye, and it was frustrating. The bandages made him feel as if someone were purposefully blinding him in the one eye. Yet he knew they were not; his left eye was gone. He'd seen it in his hands, severed from his face and useless to him now.

It was Rickon sitting by his side, holding his hand, giving off that sound. Even in the dimness of the room he recognized his youngest brother. He'd grown older, taller and more man-like in features, but his eyes were wild and his hair equally so. He looked every bit a wild thing as any of Jon's Wildlings and Robb could only assume that that was where he'd been all this time. Not dead as had been reported but living wild and unkempt with Shaggydog until Ramsay's men had found him. If Rickon were alive then that meant that perhaps Bran was as well.

"Rickon." Robb's voice was harsh sounding even to his own ears. He wondered how long he'd been out. "Where's Bran?"

Rickon's eyes grew wider and he began to shake. When it looked like his brother was about to have a fit of sorts Robb made a hushing sound, like what their mother had done to them all when they'd suffered from bad dreams as children. Rickon whimpered again and this time he leaned forward and buried his face in the furs covering Robb. Robb stroked his hand across his brother's head, his heart aching at all that his brother had had to face alone.

Jon came in then, accompanied by Roose Bolton. At the sight of the latter man Robb tried to sit up straighter, Rickon also tensing and almost giving off a growling noise at the newcomers. Jon nudged Roose forward and it was then that Robb saw Roose was unarmed and Jon was the one with the sword. If Roose was there then…Robb tried to look past them into the darkness outside the open door.

Roose knelt, without prompting, and drew Robb's attention back with his words, "I have not betrayed you, Lord Stark, as it may have looked or been reported. The attacks against your house and the lands under Stark protection were first done by the Ironborn, and against such attacks you sent me to fight. I loyally obeyed. As I traveled further north I was slowed down by attacks from your allies, unaware of the actions perpetrated by my son. My son acted without my encouragement or knowledge and it was only in recent weeks that I've grown to know the full extent of what's occurred." Roose lowered his head for but a moment before he looked back up to Robb. "I will take my own son's life, publicly, to prove my loyalty to you."

Jon raised his sword and pointed it more directly at Roose's back, awaiting Robb's command. Robb stared at the man silently a moment longer before he looked over him to Jon. "How did this man come to be here? What's occurred while I've been indisposed?"

Roose remained on his knee, silent, while Jon explained all that had happened after Robb had been knocked unconscious. Before Ramsay could give the killing blow with his sword he'd be hit by a few Wildling arrows and fell; not dead but wounded and had since been taken to Winterfell's dungeons to await further punishment. Then the attack between the Boltons and Starks happened. The initial cry that had caused Robb's distraction had been from the guards within Winterfell. Apparently, Theon Greyjoy had lit multiple fires around the keep before releasing Ramsay's hounds from their kennel. At the same time, Rickon had gone up the tower and torn down the Bolton flag. With these diversions in place, Jon wasn't sure but he felt that it was entirely possible that both Rickon and Theon worked together to toss some of the Bolton men off the wall in order to get to the winch room in order to open the portcullis and allow both the Bolton forces out/in and the Stark/Wildling forces in.

"Where is Greyjoy now?" Robb was satisfied to know that Theon had done the right thing in the end by helping them.

Jon shook his head, "He's disappeared. Rickon was alone, barred himself in the winch room, by the time we took Winterfell."

A loud cry came from another room, reminding Robb that more than one battle had just been fought outside Winterfell's walls. His eyes fell back upon Roose, "And how did you come to be here?"

Though he trusted Roose's words about as much as he would trust a White Walker friend, listening to Roose's explanation of events would shed some light later when he had Jon retell it in his own words as well. His eyes traveled back and forth between Jon and Roose as the man weaved his version of the events. Robb couldn't see much within the lines of his brother's face, alerting him to any signs of exaggeration of falsehood in Roose's words. But then again, he was beginning to feel more tired and his head was pounding. The pain was making a resurgence and it made concentrating on any one thing damn difficult. But he kept his eye open and his face as stoic as possible as he listened, waiting until Roose was finished before he asked his next question.

"Stannis Baratheon?"

"Slain by Brienne of Tarth before he could make the killing blow against Jamie Lannister. Both the Lady Brienne and Jamie are here in the healing halls awaiting attention from the maesters. They will mend." Jon explained then added. "What forces of Baratheon were not killed have since surrendered and are being held in the keep, guarded by my Wildings."

Roose spoke up then, "Your wife, Lord Stark, is one reason why I am even here to kneel before you."

"What do you mean?" Robb felt a new flush of energy at the mentioning of his wife and using Rickon's hand he pushed himself into a better position.

"She had the smarts enough to outflank the fighting in order to infiltrate the Mormont forces, waiting in the trees for Baratheon's signal to join in the fray. If she had not convinced them to switch sides, then I and my men would be the ones slain outside your walls."

Robb looked over to Jon, "Where is my wife?"

"We don't know." Jon looked to the floor for a moment, unable to meet Robb's glare. "The battle only ended recently and the last of the prisoners have just been brought into the keep. If your wife is wounded, then she is still outside and either my or your men will find her." Unspoken implication: if she was dead they'd find her the same as well.

Robb suddenly remembered and asked further, "What of Grey Wind? Did anyone release him from his bindings before the battle? Or since returned to do so?"

Jon shook his head, surprise on his face; no doubt he'd forgotten about the direwolf. His own, Ghost, had been kept in the back lines of the Wildling forces prior to the fight as a precaution for his safety. Robb felt the energy leave him then and he fell back against his pillow. Rickon pressed a goblet into his hand. Milk of the poppy. He loathed drinking it.

"What of this one?" Robb looked back to Jon and Roose when Jon asked.

Robb was surprised that Roose still had not yet stood. He narrowed his gaze, carefully looking the man over for any indication of falsehood. But, being too tired to look much more, Robb sighed and waved his hand towards Roose, beckoning him to come closer. Robb waited until Roose was just at his side, across the bed from a wide-eyed Rickon, before he spoke.

"You will fill a levy with your own men for Jon to take to the north this year, and the next, and the next, until the threats from beyond the wall are eradicated." Roose's face remained neutral as Robb continued. "From this day until the day Winterfell is restored to its former glory you will send supplies and builders, farmers as well, to help reconstruct the lands and the infrastructure that was once in this area and that the Ironborn and your son destroyed." He tightened his hold on Rickon's hand when a sudden explosion of pain took him off guard. The goblet was pressed against his lips and this time he willingly accepted it. Only after the pain abated enough for him to breathe normally again did he look back to Roose and speak again, "You will marry within a month's time, to one of the Frey daughters, and within this year the firstborn of your marriage will be given over to Winterfell as its ward."

Roose leaned his head to the side and studied Robb as if Robb were some strange creature, "What of my son Ramsay?"

"He will be publicly executed by my orders and you will be the one to bind him and lead him to the executioner's block. But you will not kill him. That is the right of the Starks." Roose nodded and looked ready to back away but Robb shook his head, mindful of the bandages and their ties. "Should you fail to do any of this I will personally bind and gag you and sit by you as we watch your lands and house burn in dragon fire, the Wildlings slaughtering every member of your household in front of your eyes. And then your tongue will be removed and your ears cut off, the tips of your fingers sliced off and your face burned, and naked you will be left north of the Wall."

It took a moment for everyone in the room to picture what Robb had just described but once that moment passed Robb watched as Roose's lips turned upward in a cold smile. "I can see you have the imagination your father lacked in his rule." Roose laid a hand over his heart and bowed his head. "I will do as you say and House Bolton will remain pledged to the Starks."

Robb nodded and laid back against the pillows, eager to be done with Roose. But the Bolton hesitated a moment longer and Robb glared at him.

"Accusations were placed before your wife. Accusations that she was working with her father, and through him the Lannisters, to betray you. To have you killed." Robb looked over to Jon for confirmation and he saw his brother nod. "Within those accusations, I was also named as a co-conspirator with Tywin Lannister. I understand that I risk my death in telling you this but Lannister did communicate his intentions to me and did invite me to take part in such a betrayal. But your wife was never named, to me, as being part of it."

Robb nodded, "And how did you respond to Lannister's request?"

"The old lion is dead, a dragon rules in the south, and a wolf is back in the north." Roose smiled. "My response then has little bearing on current events." He bowed once more and left.

Without having to ask Rickon pressed the goblet back against Robb's lips and he drank more, eager to be rid of the pain for at least a moment. The drink was working quickly by the time he rested his head back against his pillows. With drooping eye, he looked back to Jon.

"Go and look for her, Jon." He brother nodded. "Bring her to me."

Robb's eye closed then, no more strength was left in him to keep it open, but he heard Jon say that he would find Sascha and then heard him leave. Rickon remained, perched half on the bed and half off, his hand still holding Robb's and his face pressed close to Robb's side. He would have to remember to tell Jon to send ravens south to the Twins, in case Sascha had sent his mother and sister there. He would also have to remember to…


End file.
